A Thief in the Night
by Phantom Night Owl
Summary: Christine Daae is a girl poised on the brink of womanhood, when a stranger moves into the house next door and her life is changed forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Everyone!****This story is rated M ****for some** **sexual themes and violence, but that won't be for a good while. ****I promise to give you a heads up at the beginning of a chapter that might possibly offend some of you. I hope it's not too far over the top. I should be updating every Saturday. **

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Gaston Leroux's PotO, Susan Kay's Phantom, or ALW's PotO_

1883 St. Joseph, Missouri

That August was one of the hottest and driest anyone could remember. Even Granny Beasley, at the great age of ninety-two, couldn't come up with a hotter one. A dry spell had set in and rain was a distant memory, even causing the mighty Missouri to run low. Barges had become hung up on sand bars, only getting free by using teams of mules to drag them off.

The last rainfall had been at the end of May; the land was parched, with crops withering in the fields, and someone's well running dry nearly everyday. Only the adventurous or the insensible, would be out walking briskly through town on a sweltering afternoon.

The two girls cut through the vacant lot next to the feed mill, and crossed the small bridge over Darlings Creek, intent on their mission. The dust rose into the stagnant air as they left the bridge and trudged along the dirt road on the other side.

"Just because Becky said it, doesn't make it so, Christine. Besides, why're you so interested anyway? They're just dumb boys."

Her friend eyed her knowingly. "Why Marguerite Lenore Giry! You're a phony if I ever saw one! You're curious the same as me, so don't you deny it!"

The small, dark-haired girl stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. "I am not, and you know it! I'm just trying to keep _you_ out of trouble!"

Christine grabbed her friend's hand and started walking again, her single braid swinging free, then settling once again, its tip grazing the small of her back. "Oh, I know you are, Meg and look how well it's working. We're only going for a walk. That's all."

Meg snorted. "The heat's addled your brain. _No one_ simply goes for a walk mid-afternoon in this inferno."

"Look Meg...I just want to see if it's true. Miller's Pond is for everybody, isn't it? We skate there in winter same as the boys, don't we? So why not go there now? Where's the harm?"

She rolled her eyes at that. "_Because_, Christine, you're not going there to chat. You're going to _spy_ on them." She kicked a pebble with the toe of one dusty boot, and skipped ahead of her friend. She turned neatly around, walking backward.

"Becky told you they're skinny dipping. _That's_ why you want to go to Miller's."

Christine had the grace to blush. She looked ahead for their turn-off into the woods. Even the trees looked dusty and thirsty to her. She swiped her hand across her perspiring forehead, almost wiping it on her blue dress, then stopped. It was one of her favorites.

"It'll be cooler under the trees, Meggie. If no one's there...I'm going wading. How about you?"

"That's the most sense you've made all day. I'm melting!"

Going single file, they took the path into the woods. The birds were quiet this time of day; resting until the cool of early evening. The shade under the canopy of trees, after the sun soaked walk across town felt good. They had a ten minute hike to Miller's Pond, but already they quieted and used more stealth.

She pulled at the bright red scarf, regretting its presence around her neck. At least she'd had the sense that morning to braid her hair; it was far cooler this way, than leaving it loose. She reckoned a cool glass of lemonade would taste good right about now as she licked her dry lips. She almost changed her mind about their destination; she wasn't at all sure _why _she was doing this...Meg had been trying to talk her out of it all morning, but an unseemly curiosity had kept her silent. She had often wondered about the differences between boys and girls, and she knew better than to ask her aunt or even Hannah. Christine suspected they'd look at her like she'd grown two heads, if she asked questions of that nature.

When Becky first told her about the boys going swimming minus their clothes, she had seen an opportunity for her and Meg. It was not as if _they_ had the luxury of swimming on a hot summer day; they were supposed to comport themselves like ladies _all_ the time. At least that's what Hannah always told them. But _watching_ was harmless.

Since Christine had arrived at her aunt's, she had led Meg into mischief on a regular basis. At first it was fairly tame. A trip to Main St. for a bag of penny candy, or the time they'd tried to make their own ice-cream, wasting a whole sack of sugar in the process. Her aunt had been out for the afternoon, and Hannah had gone to the market, trusting the two girls to stay out of trouble. They had been sent to bed early with no supper that night.

Then last year, Christine had decided a bareback ride up Broad St. on their carriage horse, Nellie, would be just the thing. Meg had fallen off and been nearly trampled in the process. That had sobered Christine into thinking more before acting rashly; she had been frightened when the younger girl slid from the mare's back and under her feet. Except for some scrapes and bruises, Meg had escaped serious injury. But she had never seen Hannah or her aunt as angry as they'd been that day, when a neighbor led Nellie, with the girls in tow, back to the house. She had been sent to bed hungry once again, but with an added indignity...a sore behind.

She had learned her lesson finally.

But life in St. Joe was horribly tame. A leisurely walk on a summer day wasn't a bad thing, she reasoned. They weren't always getting underfoot at home, and it kept her aunt from insisting she work on her sampler, thinking glumly of the snarled mess atop the dresser in her bedroom. She picked up her pace, seeing the path just ahead, that wound through the woods and to Miller's Pond.

Becky Drake could have made it up; after all...she claimed her brother Wendell told her so, and everyone knew what a little liar _he_ was. But she had always been a curious child, and at fifteen, she still was. Curious and more daring than Meg, she saw nothing wrong in what they were doing. After all...who would know?

The trees began to thin somewhat, and just about then, they heard the boisterous laughter and shouting. The girls halted, Meg hanging back, while Christine, the braver of the two crept closer to the noise. The trees were fairly dense at the edge of the woods where she was standing; she kept herself safely hidden behind the tree trunk she was leaning against and cautiously peeked around it. There was a clearing around the pond, which was in reality, more of a small lake. In the dead of winter, a large bonfire was built, and the children and at times adults, skated on the hard ice for hours.

But today, under a cloudless sky, three boys pushed and splashed each other, looking deliciously cool and...naked as the day they were born. She clapped a hand over her mouth and turned to Meg, frantically beckoning her forward. Christine turned back and watched as a slightly built blonde haired boy climbed a small hill and grabbed onto a bull rope dangling from the limb of a large maple. With an Indian war whoop, he pushed off from the bank and became airborne. Once over the water he released the rope, and neatly turning in mid-air, dove headfirst into the pond making scarcely a ripple.

Meg had joined her friend at the tree trunk and her gaze had also been riveted on the boy diving into the water. Their eyes became huge as they watched them splashing about; it was too much for Meg when one of them decided to float on his back. Getting an eyeful of his pale torso caused her to snort helplessly, even with both hands clamped over her mouth. Eyes bulging, and face turning red from trying to hold in the embarrassed laughter, she lost the battle when Christine looked at her in horror. To Meg, the expression on her friend's face was priceless and only made it funnier. She leaned over, hands on her knees and giggled helplessly.

"Noo, Meg! They heard us! They're coming...r-run!"

Nearly hysterical, Meg spun around and started to run, surprisingly, still laughing. Only now, her laughter was edged in terror. Christine knew the three boys had heard them when they looked in the direction of the tree where the girls were hidden. Pausing only long enough to throw their trousers on, they were approaching fast. One of the boys hopped around on one leg, while clumsily thrusting the other into his pants, the sight causing Christine to squeal with breathless laughter. One of the three sprinted past her, intent on catching up with Meg, leaving the other two to run _her_ down.

Never had she wished more to be wearing trousers herself, instead of a hindering dress and petticoats. Her legs were long and coltish; she had good speed, but the boys were faster and the heavier of the two grabbed her scarf, twisting the filmy material around one hand and dragging her backward.

"I'll teach you to spy on your betters, you little witch! Now you won't have to just _watch_. Why...you're going swimmin'. How's that sound, huh?"

He continued dragging her back toward the pond, all the while, Christine fighting like a wildcat. She quickly glanced over to the blonde haired boy who was keeping pace with his friend.

"I know you and so...so does my aunt! I'll be telling her who ruined my dress and you'll _all_ be in trouble for this!" she screamed. Her anger and fright had her breath coming in sobbing pants and her face was wet with tears.

The blonde boy put his hand on his friend's arm. "Stop, Gabe. She's right, you know. We'll only get in trouble for this. Let her go."

Gabe kept walking and dragging Christine, now nearly to the pond. She was so close to him, she could see the soft downy hair on his cheeks and a scattering of pimples on his chin. She swallowed nervously, not looking forward to a dunking...or a drowning. The boy was in a temper.

She tried once again. "W-We have just as much right t-to be here as you d-do. We weren't doing anything wrong!"

Gabe's steps slowed, but he kept walking and holding tightly to Christine. He was a husky boy and tall for his age. "They were spying on us, Raoul. Dim witted good for nothin' females!" He gave her a shake, then a shove, knocking her off balance.

Her red scarf was still wrapped around his fist. Unwinding it, he balled it up in one hand and pitched it into the pond, where it floated momentarily. Christine cried out, righting herself and moving quickly to the edge of the water.

"My scarf! Please! My father...he gave it to me!"

Raoul gave her a look of disgust, but quickly waded into the water and retrieved it for her.

"Why you want to help the likes of her, de Chagny? We had a good thing here till they showed up!" Gabe said a crude word and eying his friend with disfavor, he turned on his heel, gathered his things and left the clearing.

She felt only embarrassment; the boy standing beside her was clothed now, but blushing, she remembered when he wasn't, and felt mortified at having been caught peeking at him.

"Th-Thank you for stopping him...and for this." She indicated her slightly soggy scarf. Using the heels of her hands, she wiped the last of the tears away.

Raoul shrugged. "I didn't do it for you. I just didn't want to get in any trouble with my mother. She knows your aunt."

Christine nodded and he went over and picked up his shirt, hastily donning it. He didn't like thinking that this girl had watched them cavorting in the buff. They had seen his...

He stopped that thought, a blush painting his cheeks red. Slowly they left the clearing together...the silence uneasy and awkward.

She was the first to speak. "Your last name is de Chagny, isn't it?"

Raoul pitched his head to the side and tapped his temple with the heel of his hand, forcing water out of his ear.

He nodded. "My father is Louis and my mother, Emily. I also have an older brother...his name is Philippe. Then there's me, my twin brothers John and Luke, ah, Tom, and Freddy."

Then as an afterthought, "I have a six year old sister too."

He paused and looked at her, smiling for the first time. The smile transformed his face. It was actually very nice. She felt herself blushing again.

Raoul studied the girl in front of him. If he had liked girls, which he didn't, he would've considered her to be a pretty one...but he had no use for them. They talked too much, and became agitated if they got a speck of dirt on themselves.

And they had no sense of adventure.

Last April, the news came to them about the death of Jesse James, shot by a member of his own gang in his home on Lafayette St. Raoul was mad to go and join the crowds flocking around the small house where the body lay. His brother, Philippe and his friend, Albert Speer were going and Raoul tagged along with his then five year old sister, Clara, pulling her along behind him and trying to keep up with the older boys who had no intention of slowing down. His mother had insisted on him watching her while she attended an afternoon tea, so he grabbed the little girl's hand and the unlikely foursome set off across town.

Soon, his sister began to cry, becoming frightened by the talk of dead bodies and violence. Philippe, impatient, finally ordered Raoul home with the little girl.

"Take her home, brother, or you'll find yourself in a world of hurt with Mother."

Cursing savagely under his breath, he dragged his sister home again, hating her and Philippe by equal turns. At fifteen, he didn't think he would ever forgive them, for he never did view the outlaw's body, but his brother did, and became the star at the dinner table when his father wanted to know all the grisly details.

Yes, girls were pretty useless creatures and the one standing in front of him was no different.

Still, she had nice hair.

"What about you?" he asked her.

"Just my Aunt Edna and me." She looked down at her wet scarf. "I've lived with her since my father died. Five years now."

"What about your mother? Where's she?"

"She died of fever when I was four. I-I don't remember her very well, but my father and I were close." She looked at the scarf again. "This was the last thing he gave me." she said softly.

"I know where you live. That purple house with the towers. That's a mighty big place for two people."

"Oh, our housekeeper, Hannah Giry and her daughter, Meg live there as well."

They were out of the woods and walking on the dirt road back into town.

Christine felt the need to say something to the boy. She spoke haltingly to him. I'm...I'm real sorry for breaking up your fun. And...and not making our presence known...that was...wrong."

She surprised him. Most girls he knew, would _never_ admit when they were wrong. His respect for her went up a notch.

He looked down the road. "Hey...uh, here comes your friend. I...uh, I better take off."

He hesitated then said. "Look...uh, better stay away from Miller's for a while. Next time you might not be so lucky. Maybe I'll see you around sometime, Christine."

She looked at him shyly. "Yes. I-I'd like that."

He nodded and she watched him disappear into the hazy afternoon, just as an out of breath and grubby Meg approached her huffing and puffing, her face sweaty...wisps of hair plastered to her neck.

"Whew! I never thought I'd get rid of him. He chased me a good ways, but I ducked back into the woods and lost him finally." She fingered the torn sleeve of her brown dress. "My mother is going to flay me alive for this, Christine. I hope you're happy."

Christine looked at her wrinkled and creased scarf with sadness."Next time, try talking me out of my insanity a little harder, would you? I'm sorry, Meg. I'll take the blame."

"It's all right. At least you offered. How about you? I saw you with that blonde boy. Did he hurt you?"

"No. He was rather nice. The other one though was all set to give me a good dunking. Raoul stopped him _and_ rescued my scarf."

"Ooh...Raoul is it? He made quite an impression on you." She looked at Christine slyly. "Was that before or after he put clothes on?"

Christine gave her friend a shove. "That wasn't nice, Meg Giry! Take it back!"

She advanced on Meg with fire in her eyes and the younger girl threw up her hands in surrender.

"All right...I take it back! Land's sake, Christine. This was _your_ idea in the first place."

She looked at Meg sheepishly. "I'd just like to forget it now. I-I don't know what gets into me sometimes, Meggie."

"I don't know either...but one thing's for certain." she giggled, and a blush crept up her neck. "I never thought _it_ looked like that! Yuck!"

She laughed nervously. "Why do you think so many women get married? I'm not ever! What about you?

"They get married to have babies, Meg. Everybody knows _that!"_

The younger girl looked at her friend in puzzlement. "Well...I'm going to have a houseful of cats and you won't see any boys _or_ babies around my house, that's for certain!"

"Not me. I want lots of babies." She glanced at Meg. "How can you not want babies? They're so sweet...just like Mrs. Robidoux's little one. She lets me hold her."

Meg shook her head stubbornly. "Well I don't. They're also noisy and sometimes they smell bad. No...I just want cats."

Then she took Christine's arm and sighed. "Let's get this over with. Hopefully I can come up with a good reason for my torn dress."

"Well, at least we discovered one thing, Meggie."

"What?"

"Wendell didn't lie after all."

Meg nodded solemnly, and together arm in arm, they walked back through town, their steps faltering the closer they got to Broad St. and home.


	2. Chapter 2

The house where Christine and her Aunt Edna lived was large and rambling, painted a pale lavender and graced with two towers and rounded cupolas over its width. The short front yard sloped down to the street, where a large iron stag stood beside the cement carriage block.

All along the street above the town, were the homes of the wealthier inhabitants of St. Joseph or St. Joe, as it was fondly called by those living there. The one thing the homes had in common along the wide tree-lined avenue, was the sheer size of most of the dwellings, but none were larger than Archer House. It was a mammoth Second Empire built in 1859, one of the first to sit on Broad St. The style was French and made popular by Napoleon the Third; it was said by some that the architect who designed Archer House, had come all the way from Paris to do so.

Its boards were a weathered gray, tall and foreboding; large stone gargoyles, perched at all four corners of the black slate mansard roof, mouths agape and long tongues flicking out in a silent, frozen hiss. One square tower rose, looking much like a sentinel in the front center of the house and climbed three stories. To a young Christine's fanciful mind, she thought of that tower as the very large finger of God, pointing the way to Heaven. The winding gravel drive was overgrown with thistle weed and grass long gone to seed. It was a house built for a large family, but had never housed one under its spacious roof.

The owner of St. Joe's largest mercantile store, had the home built for his wife, and in 1860, he had proudly carried her over the threshold. They had already been married for ten years when they moved into the house on Broad St. They had established a dry goods store in St. Louis very early in their marriage which had started to thrive, and to compound their joy, they looked forward to the birth of a child in the spring. In 1850, a son had been born to the couple, but to Adelaide's great sorrow, the baby had died at birth. Their store had become a lucrative business and they'd established a home there and friends, but Adelaide had sunk into a depression after no more children had been born to them. At his wits end, Maurice sold his business for a tidy profit and moved them to St. Joseph for a new start. His wife had at last conceived again, and the couple eagerly awaited the birth of their baby, but less than two years later, their second child had died in infancy and there were no more.

Adelaide Archer never recovered from the death of her sons, and heartbroken, her health had declined, until one morning, the maid had found the woman dead in her room. Maurice Archer had almost immediately closed the house after his wife's funeral and left town, never to return.

The house and grounds had almost overnight, taken on an unsavory reputation, some saying behind closed doors that Adelaide had been driven to the grave by her husband. Truth or no, the weeds and shrubs had a field day, and quickly draped themselves over much of the first floor, practically hiding from view the columned portico on the west side of the house. In a few years time, it became a derelict and eyesore.

Christine's aunt was the most vocal about its condition, her home being the closest neighbor to the Archer place. So it was with a great deal of hope and satisfaction that she sat down to breakfast the next morning and informed her niece that the estate was to have a new owner sometime in the fall. Christine dipped a spoon into her peaches and looked at her aunt.

"I wonder if there will be a girl my age. That would be nice."

Hannah Giry entered the dining room with a platter of ham and eggs and set them on the table. "That house could hold a baker's dozen of girls and still have room to spare."

She folded her hands over her apron and looked at Edna. Hannah was thin and dark, much like her daughter, Meg, but had a wealth of beautiful chestnut hair, at the moment pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes were deep set and hazel...to Christine, they sometimes seemed to look right through her, especially when she'd done something wrong and was trying to hide it from the housekeeper. The one thing that always struck her about Hannah, were the vast stores of energy she had...in some ways, she reminded her of the little hummingbird that would show up near the kitchen door searching the potted red geraniums for nectar...always in constant motion. Up before the sun every morning, she was still going strong when Christine was on her way to bed for the night.

At the moment, she was full of gossip which always amused Christine. Her aunt constantly lectured Hannah about her chats with the hired help, but she knew it was only a front. Edna listened avidly, but pretended otherwise.

"Granny Beasley's maid saw a dark skinned man skulking around over there just last week. Told me so just this morning."

Hannah glanced at Christine. "Minnie said he looked mighty suspicious to her, so don't go gettin' your hopes up for a new friend too soon, my girl."

Edna patted her mouth with her napkin and peered at Hannah over her spectacles. She looked prim and starched in her plum silk dress, her iron gray hair elaborately styled and neat as a pin, making Christine feel hot and wilted by comparison. Nothing seemed to faze her aunt, least of all the weather.

"I've told you before about listening to back door gossip, Hannah Giry. Especially coming from Agatha Beasley's house. She should make it very clear to that new girl over there, that she's not getting paid to carry tales."

"It wasn't back door, Missus. We were standing out in front of the house when she told me."

Christine dropped her head to hide the grin from her aunt. That one goes to Hannah, she thought.

Aunt Edna's purple bosom swelled with indignation.

"Be that as it may, Hannah...it's still considered gossip, wherever it takes place. As you well know. Cease and desist, if you please."

"Yes ma'am. I'll certainly remember that." She turned away, rolling her eyes and making a face.

Edna and her housekeeper-cook had an interesting working relationship. Together for years, the two women were fond of each other, but pretended the opposite. Christine wished she had a piece of chocolate for every time Edna threatened to fire her, and one for every time Hannah threatened to quit. Their constant sniping at each other was part of the fabric of Christine's life...the same as church was every Sunday, come rain or shine. If they ever stopped, she would consider one of them to be deathly ill.

Edna Stone's late husband Matthew, had been a banker before his death seven years ago. He'd had the foresight to buy up prime real estate in the growing town which sat on the Missouri River, and had made a tidy profit on the sale of the land over the years. He had provided his widow with the means to live in comfort for the rest of her life.

The former Edna Nielsson had grown up in Kansas City along with her younger sister Claire on a small dairy farm. They were the first generation of Swedes in their family born in America, and when their parents had missed their homeland too much, they would tell their daughters stories of growing up in the county of Kronoberg in southern Sweden. Her mother, Edna remembered, told her and baby Claire about the midsummer solstice celebrations and the great fun they'd had every summer dressing the maypole in colorful flowers, then the hours of dancing round it, stopping only to eat pickled herring and the first ripe strawberries of the season. Their father however, loved the old legends, especially the one handed down from generation to generation about their ancestors. Papa in particular, loved the tale of Brynhild, the shieldmaiden, who fought alongside her warrior husband, Godfrid in the raids on the Normandy coast in 847. Their father claimed she was as fierce a fighter as any man, and a young Edna had loved the ancient Norse legend, but looking at her young niece and her gentle face, she highly doubted the tale now. She knew how stories collected details and embellishments over the years...Bryhild may have been an ancestress, but a vicious fighter? No more than her niece would be, she suspected. Christine had the look of her mother Claire, pretty and delicate, but with a curiosity of life that was boundless. Edna had married her beau, Matthew and the young couple had moved to St. Joseph and begun a very satisfactory married life raising their daughter in this very home. Claire, years later, had married a young Swedish violinist, Henry Daae and remained in Kansas City giving birth to Christine when Edna's own daughter was already grown and married.

Christine looked at her stiff-necked aunt and felt a rush of warm affection for her. She was indebted to the older woman for taking her in; Christine's mother had been much younger than her sister Edna, and the two women had lost touch with each other over the years. When her young niece had been orphaned at ten, Edna had opened her home and heart to the grieving little girl. Her daughter, Josephine and a grandson lived in New York, and she didn't see them nearly as much as she wanted. Having Christine with her, gave the girl a stable home life and brightened hers considerably.

Aunt Edna however was fond of her charities and she was a fixture with the St. Joe Ladies' Aid Society, and was often gone from home, leaving Christine in Hannah's capable hands. The young girl often felt that Hannah had raised her as much as her aunt.

Edna enjoyed the theatre as well, and had interested her niece in opera and classical music at the age of ten, until two years before, St. Joseph's only opera house had been severely damaged by fire; the probable culprit...a faulty gas line. There had been one death...a workman up in the fly loft, most likely overwhelmed by the rising smoke before he could escape. No one ever knew for certain why he never made it out, but his blackened and burnt remains were found lying beneath the collapsed stage amidst the rubble.

After the fire, it sat idle for those two years; the owner wishing only to find a buyer for what was left of the building. At the least, the land was worth a small fortune sitting on the corner of Francis and Fifth Streets. There had been rumors of the place being sold recently and plans for it to be refurbished. Her aunt was in transports over the thought of musical evenings once again.

"Hannah, I'm having some Aid ladies in tomorrow for afternoon tea. Can you serve us a nice luncheon? Perhaps some cucumber sandwiches and fruit compote with those peaches you put up last year. Something light...this infernal heat makes for heavy stomachs."

Edna set down her coffee cup and looked over at her niece. "Harriet Riley was asking about you, Christine. She and the other ladies would love to have you sing for them tomorrow. Harriet thinks you have the prettiest little voice."

Her aunt _always _asked her nicely to sing at these functions, but that was just a formality; she knew her aunt expected it. And she would, because she loved nothing better. She was planning to attend the music conservatory in St. Louis and improve her singing skills; possibly even become good enough to go onstage. It was her fondest wish. But for now, she was content to perform for her aunt's friends.

"Of course I will."

Edna smiled and sipped her coffee. "I knew you would. Wear your pink silk, child. You look so sweet in it."

Christine nodded and excused herself as the two women went over a menu for the following day. Before she went out the kitchen door, she grabbed an apple from the bowl on the dry sink and went into the back yard looking for Meg.

She walked to the carriage house and stopped at the doorway peering in. Sometimes Meg brought scraps out for the cat, but Nellie, their carriage horse was alone, her neck stretched out inquiringly toward Christine. She went over to the brown mare's stall and fed her the apple, Nellie's large square teeth making short work of it. She stayed for a few minutes, talking softly to her, the mare's ears pitched forward, looking for all the world like she was listening. She scratched her under the chin and went back outside.

She wandered over to the side of their yard closest to the Archer property and sat down on the cast iron bench under the grape arbor. Absentmindedly, she picked some of the succulent purple grapes and popped them in her mouth, noticing that the vines were drying up.

She looked down when she felt the black barn cat winding its way around her ankles. "Hello, Tidbit. How are _you_ today?" She rubbed her behind the ears.

Hannah had given the little cat her name, when as a kitten, she had declared that the little scrap was no bigger than a tidbit.

She sat there in the warmth of the morning, not yet the stifling heat it would be for much of the day. She yawned and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her eyelids and listened lazily to the droning of the bees in the hydrangea bushes.

Just as she was getting ready to go inside, she saw movement from the yard next door and watched as a man walked to the dilapidated carriage house of the Archer place.

He looked up and gave a start of surprise when he saw the young girl looking at him. He immediately removed his strange hat and inclined his head in her direction. Christine hesitantly stood and walked toward the boundary of the two properties. She approached the middle aged man shyly, noting his tall, powerful frame and dark, weathered skin.

"Good day, young Miss." he began pleasantly. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nadir Khan. We are to be neighbors, I think."

"I-I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Khan. My name is Christine Daae and this is my Aunt Edna Stone's house. Welcome to Broad St. Do-Do you have any daughters my age?" she asked hopefully.

She was startled at the man's bright green eyes in his swarthy face.

Nadir Khan was taken aback at her question, but observed the girl in front of him. She had a heart shaped face framed by long curly hair the color of new honey, currently pulled back in a tortoiseshell clip and hanging in a fall down her back. A pair of wide, cornflower blue eyes framed with thick lashes were trained on him, but one of her most interesting features was a dainty little chin with a slight cleft. His father had once told him years ago...more years than he cared to remember...that women with a chin such as this one had, were mulish and tenacious. He studied her delicate features again and smiled. He had never truly believed that. She had a slight build, but showed promise of beauty once she filled out. He was altogether charmed.

"No, I'm afraid not, Miss Daae. Unfortunately, the actual homeowner is a bachelor without family. I am simply his man of business getting the house ready for his occupancy."

"Oh." She was disappointed at this news, but politely hid it. "I hope he'll be happy here, Mr. Khan."

"I'm quite sure he will be, Miss." He inclined his head once more. "Good day to you. He continued on his way to the carriage house and his inspection of the building's integrity.

She stood there a moment longer, then went looking again for Meg. She found her in the kitchen with her mother. Christine perched on the red stool in the corner and told them of her meeting with Nadir Khan.

"He's dark, Hannah. Just like the man who ran the fair that came through last summer. The one who said he was a gypsy. But he's nice. He didn't seem suspicious to me at all." she said innocently.

She plucked an apple from the bowl and took a huge bite, chewing noisily. Swallowing, she said, "He's getting the place ready for the new owner."

"Land's sake, Christine Nielsson Daae! _Close_ your mouth when you chew! Why...Nellie is more of a lady than you are."

"Yes, Hannah." she said sotto voce, thinking once again, that being a boy would be a whole lot easier to accomplish.

Hannah looked at the girl with exasperated affection. "Well? Go on, child. You were saying...?"

Christine put the apple down and folded her hands in her lap. "There are no children, just an old bachelor. Imagine one man living in that mausoleum. Why...it's insane!" she grumped.

"Well, he's free to own as many rooms as he wants. No law saying he has to fill them with people." Hannah said.

She was making her homemade ketchup and had Meg stirring it over the stove.

"Another day hot as Hades." She added more sugar to the pot, then turned to Christine. "I've got a bone to pick with you, Miss Daae."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Christine waited for it, wondering if Meg had told her mother everything.

"You girls stay out of those woods and stop acting like a couple of tomboys. You're both young ladies now...start behaving as such."

"Yes, Hannah." she sighed, throwing a dirty look Meg's way behind the woman's back, but with a feeling of relief; Meg hadn't told her everything. The younger girl looked sideways at her mother, then crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Christine, causing her to snort, but after a suspicious look from the housekeeper, she hastily turned it into a hacking cough.

Hannah regarded her silently, but with a calculating look in her eye. "You don't sound at all well, child. Some of my elixir should clear that right up...that and a mustard plaster for your chest."

Christine felt panic at the idea of Hannah's evil smelling and even more evil tasting cough syrup. Countless spoonfuls of it over the years at the first sign of illness, had given her a deep and abiding aversion to it. Her stomach churned just at the very mention of the stuff.

"N-No, Hannah, no. I've never felt so wonderful! Really! A piece of apple went down the wrong way, that's all."

Hannah bit back a grin, knowing the two girls had been having fun at her expense, but Christine's expression at the mention of her homemade elixir, more than made up for it.

"All right." she said finally. "The both of you run along now." But she turned as they started to run out of the kitchen. "Here! I certainly didn't mean that literally! I won't tell you girls again! Comport yourselves like the young ladies you're supposed to be!"

She sighed, wondering if boys would have been easier to handle. She only had the one child. After Meg had been born, her husband, Julian had taken a job with one of the river boats hauling goods up and down the Missouri. He returned home regularly for the first year, spending one week out of each month with his small family. Then the visits home became even less frequent, until the day came when they stopped altogether.

It hadn't surprised her all that much. Jules had never been the sticking kind; he enjoyed crowds and smoky saloons...card games and strong drink. She had also discovered after they'd married, that he enjoyed more than one woman at a time. But he had been the least of her worries. Hannah had her baby to think about. She looked for work where she could keep Meg with her. She was at her wits end, broke and alone when she answered an ad for a cook and housekeeper. Edna Stone had been a Godsend to her and her baby daughter. She was a good woman and a more than fair employer to work for.

Thoughts of her husband had become less and less until she no longer wondered or cared what had happened to him. She was mother _and_ father to Meg; Christine as well, and that was enough.

Only...sometimes in the night she wished for his arms around her once again. Her man had been unstable and restless, but they had enjoyed their intimacies, and after a few weeks apart, she had looked forward to his touch and his comfortable weight atop her. She shook the old memories away and soon had the ketchup in jars, stored on the shelf. Getting a bucket of water and some cloths, she went into the dining room to clean the gaslight chandelier over the table. The large ornate lamp had one hundred crystal teardrop prisms to keep clean. She would be working there for much of the day, until it was time to start dinner.

The two girls wandered out front and sat on the steps watching the light traffic on the street. Most people not out on any business were doing their best to stay out of the heat. A smart looking buggy went by, a pretty sorrel mare pulling it at a fast trot, followed by a man on a tall bicycle who swerved to miss a dog lunging at his wheels.

Meg watched with a grin, as a young boy chased the little black and white animal down the street yelling for the dog to stop, then turned to Christine with a thoughtful look.

"Remember last July when Mama took us to that fair? How we sneaked away from her to see the freak show?" She laughed softly. "I'll _never_ forget those sights. I had nightmares for a long time after seeing the Wolf Boy. But I wanted to go back and see the Bearded Lady again." She put a hand to her cheek as if feeling an imaginary beard there.

Christine said nothing for a minute, still watching the street, then she looked over at her friend. "I'll never forget that day either. I couldn't wait to get out of that sweltering tent. Those poor souls... displaying themselves for our enjoyment. How pitiful for them _and_ us. I don't know why I let you talk me into going."

"Well...because it's usually _you_ talking _me_ into something that could get us into trouble! Turn around is fair play, Christine. Besides, you sound just like Mary Thomas, the Goody Two Shoes of St. Joe. She _always_ thinks she's more refined than anyone else. Guess that comes from being the preacher's daughter, but you're not, so don't _act_ like it!"

Christine huffed. "Just because I refuse to gawk at people and their misfortune...well, it doesn't make me like _her_, Meg."

The younger girl plucked a spent dandelion and blew on it, watching the fluff scatter in the torpid air.

"You laughed at that legless man outside Harkin's, as I recall. The one who lost his legs in the war." she said sullenly.

"Meg! I wasn't laughing at _him_! I was laughing at his magic tricks. Why are you being so daft?"

"I'm not being daft! I just don't like it when you get high and mighty with me. Besides...Mama says you always over-think everything. You're...you are...um... phila...um.."

"Philosophical?"

"Yes. That's the word. That's what you are. Is...is it b-bad?"

Meg felt petty now for goading her friend, but sometimes she was a little jealous of the attention Christine got from everyone. Her bad mood disappeared as quickly as it came, and her sunny nature reasserted itself. The older girl was like a sister to her.

Christine slung her arm around Meg. "No. It's not bad." she said quietly. She tucked her dress further underneath her legs and leaned her elbows on her knees, chin in hand.

"How much _did_ you tell your mother about yesterday?"

Meg swatted at a fly and shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Not much. I told her we went looking for berries and that's how I ripped my dress, but I don't dare go in the woods anymore. She'll likely have me doing nothing but chores till I'm old and gray the next time."

She shrugged again. "Well, she would if she knew what we were _really_ doing out there."

Christine snickered. "I won't tell if you don't."

Meg tilted her chin at the house next door. "Do you think it's really true about that place? It's always been empty...seems strange to think that spooky old house will soon have folks living there."

A large wagon pulled by a team of sturdy draft horses came down the street, and to their surprise, turned in the rutted drive of Archer House. A veritable army of workmen hopped out of the wagon, carrying tools of all sorts and headed toward the house. Christine spied Mr. Khan walking forward and stopping to talk with the man in the lead.

She laughed softly. "I think you just got your answer, Meg."

"But why an old man with no family?" she muttered to herself. She stuck her chin back in her hand. "It's not fair."

The once quiet street soon rang with the sounds of a house being reclaimed from nature, and the shouts and cursing of men working to accomplish it in the rising heat of another scorching day. The two girls would be entertained by the activity next door well past summer and nearly into fall, when the new owner would finally arrive, unheralded and in the middle of the worst storm St. Joe had seen in years.


	3. Chapter 3

August disappeared into a September that was turning out to be just as dry as the preceding month. Soon September would be a memory and still no rain had fallen on the parched earth. Meg had started back to school; it would be her last year, and that morning, Christine accompanied her to Charles St. leaving her in front of the Humboldt School, and continuing on her way to Morrison's Dry Goods.

She had finished her schooling the year before and felt a little lost without her best friend. She had enjoyed school and was excited about attending the conservatory in St. Louis next year. Hannah had requested this trip into town; she needed white linen to make new chemises for both girls and red flannel for petticoats.

To even think of flannel petticoats when the temperature still hovered toward the dog days was ridiculous. She quickly crossed Main St. and entered Morrison's, the interior of the store stuffy and repressive from the heat. She nodded to a tired looking Mrs. Morrison, and walked to where the colorful bolts of cloth were displayed along the far wall. A man stood at the end of the aisle with his back to her, holding a coffeepot and studying it seriously. She knew who it was because of the gray brimless hat he held in one hand.

"Mr. Khan...hello!"

He turned quickly, smiling in delight at Christine. "Miss Daae. What a pleasure to meet you again. How are you?"

Christine grinned and held up the bolt of linen for his inspection. "I'm fine. Getting some fabric for Hannah. And you?"

She indicated the coffee pot he'd been perusing. "Doing some shopping yourself, I see."

"I don't know if you would call it shopping." He scratched his head and sighed. "I'm not that familiar with all of your American wares...some, yes. For instance. Is this a good item to purchase?"

She assured him it was, and pointed out different kitchen utensils Hannah used, aiding him in his choices. He kept glancing at the list in his hand. "I wanted to have the kitchen mostly stocked for Mrs. Cole." At her puzzled look, he clarified. "She is to be the new housekeeper.

"That's everything I need from here. Next stop...food staples. Flour, sugar, coffee, tea and some spices. If you would direct me to where I may gather these things, I would be most appreciative, Miss Daae."

He glanced up at Christine, realizing he was monopolizing much of her time. She was a nice girl...pleasant and helpful. He couldn't always say the same for others in this town, where cowboys rubbed elbows with river men and those who robbed trains were idolized. However, men such as himself were usually frowned upon as too strange for this raw town...too suspicious. He looked toward the front of the store, to see the shopkeeper watching him carefully, making certain he didn't slip something into his pocket. There was absolutely nothing he would consider worth taking from this dreary establishment.

Christine directed him to Harkin's General Store, then excused herself, choosing the linens and yardage she required. Ten minutes later, she stood at the scratched and gouged wooden counter up front.

"You know him, do you, Christine?" Mrs. Morrison jerked her sweaty chin to where Nadir Khan was standing outside in front of the store, looking at his list again.

Christine looked from Nadir and back to the heavy set woman. "Why yes. He's our new neighbor, Mrs. Morrison."

The storekeeper picked up a newspaper from the counter and fanned her perspiring face with it. "I swear...I'd rather have a foot of snow right now, Christine. I think I'd lay down in it for a spell." She put down the paper and pointed to where the Persian stood.

"He gave his address as the old Archer house. Is that so? Mighty big place for one man. Did he say where he's from?" she said casually, but Christine knew Mrs. Morrison was all ears...she was a horrible old gossip. Her aunt abhorred her.

"No ma'am." she said politely, wanting to be outside and away from the stifling interior of the store.

She neatly folded the cloth and added the total. "Well," she sighed. "he's not from these parts I'll wager."

Christine said nothing to that, for she didn't know where Nadir came from either. She watched as the woman wrapped the linens in brown paper and tied them with string. She took Christine's money and looked at Nadir again, narrowing her eyes.

"Looks like a gypsy to me." she muttered in a low voice.

Christine grabbed her packages. "I wouldn't know about that." she said, and escaped from the stuffy store and back into the hot sun...trading one kind of heat for another, and bought a copy of the Gazette from the paperboy selling it on the street corner. She walked over to where Nadir was standing in the scant shade from the buildings.

"I gave the madam my address for delivery, and she seemed rather surprised by it. Any particular reason why?" he said, as she came up to him.

Christine laughed. "Only because the place has been empty for so many years."

"You are only being kind, my dear girl. She more than likely thinks I'm a little too foreign for this town." he said with just a hint of sarcasm.

His pleasant smile took the sting out of it, but she thought there was probably some truth to what he said, which begged the question of where he did come from. So without Hannah or her aunt to chastise her, she asked him.

"I am from Iran, Christine. The province of Persia, to be more precise. Have you heard of it?"

She gave a start of surprise. "Yes I have! We talked about Persia and the trade routes in school last year."

Actually, she was very impressed. To think this man came all the way from such an exotic land and ended up here of all places. She thought of the book she'd taken from the lending library not long ago...The Arabian Nights, and how entranced she'd become by the stories. Reading was a pleasure which would never grow old for her. Her aunt thought she did too much of it, but tales of faraway places always captured her interest and imagination.

She said excitedly, "Would you tell me someday about your country? I'd be most interested to learn about it." She hesitated only a moment, then gestured to his hat. "I've never seen a hat like that before."

He laughed a little and touched the ridge of the cap. "It's called an astrakhan, and it's favored in my country as well as others in the region. And as to your first question...I would be happy to, Miss Daae." he said warmly.

Christine waved the newspaper at him. "This is my sense of adventure...Meg, Hannah and I look forward to every Friday edition, when the latest chapter of our favorite serial comes out."

"Oh? And what would that be? I don't read them much myself. Rubbish mostly."

Christine made a noise of protest and said adamantly, "Oh no...this is written by the famous writer, H.T. Poman. It's stories he's collected about the bounty hunter they call Phantom. Are you familiar with him? He's quite famous in these parts...he always gets his man, and some of them are desperate killers wanted in four states!"

Her excitement for the subject was readily apparent to him, and he shook his head slightly with a frown. "I've heard of the man, but I wouldn't believe half of what this Poman writes about him. My advice to you, young woman, is to take everything that's written about this bounty hunter with a...how do you say...grain of sand?"

She hid a smile and said seriously. "Ah, I think you mean a grain of salt."

She was a little disappointed with his attitude, she thought the Phantom and his fight for justice quite romantic. He was probably handsome too, dressed in his dark clothing and long duster. It was said that he usually had his face covered to keep his identity hidden, and a black hat pulled low on his forehead. Christine shivered. She had a secret crush on him.

"Well...myself, I think he's awfully brave going up against hardened killers all by himself, just so the streets are safe to walk for women and children."

She waved the paper under his nose again. "This chapter is all about the Phantom going after the Cimarron Kid and his gang of cutthroats. I might just stop somewhere along the way and read it...if I don't, it'll be ripped out of my hands when I get home, and I'll have to wait until they're all finished before I get it back!"

Nadir made a rude noise. "Dear girl. This _Phantom_ collects a bounty for every crook and murderer he hauls in...altruism I'm sure, has no part in it! He's probably much more concerned with getting paid, and I would hazard a guess, that he's just as much of a killer as those he hunts! _I've _heard he favors bringing them in dead, more than alive."

Christine scowled at that. "You're a little severe, don't you think? There's not very much known about him, except that he's a dead shot, and sometimes he uses a type of lasso on the men he's tracking."

The Persian put up a hand. "Peace, young lady. Peace. I admit defeat. You seem to know more than me about this Phantom, therefore, I bow to your superior knowledge of the man."

She grinned at that and said with a twinkle in her eye. "After this paper has made the rounds at our house...and I include my aunt in that too, even though she pretends no interest, then you may have this chapter to read for yourself. And we have all the others saved at home...you're welcome to borrow them any time you like."

With an uncharacteristic smirk, he thanked her and turned toward his horse.

"Mr. Khan...the house and grounds are looking marvelous. I never realized there was such a beautiful house under all that shrubbery."

Which was true. Archer House was shining like a new penny. Just recently it had been given several fresh coats of gray paint. All repairs to siding and slate roof had been made, and the grounds were looking well kept, even if everything was brown and dry to the point of crisp. New gravel had been laid in the drive, and the carriage house was nearly done as well. The portico's columns were once again in view, and the Second Empire home looked stately and elegant after years of neglect.

Nadir agreed with her, but shook his head. "It hasn't been easy, I must say. I've paid them double what they required, just to have them complete the necessary repairs sooner. American workers are excellent, but can be quite stubborn...but then, we all have our ways of doing things." He grinned, with a flash of white teeth in his dark face. "I know of another who can be just as stubborn...I am well used to it. But the interior is nearly finished now and very soon the furniture and such will be delivered."

Nadir in the meantime had untied his gelding from the wooden post in front of the store, and stood holding the reins loosely.

Christine shaded her eyes as she looked up at him. "Where have you been living during all the work, Mr. Khan?"

"In the carriage house. I have a nice apartment above the stalls. And you may call me Nadir. We are neighbors after all."

His living arrangement surprised her. "Why...that house is certainly big enough for two people. Why not live there?"

She put her hand to her mouth. It was rude of her to be so nosy and she said so to him, to which he only laughed.

"Nonsense, Miss Daae. There's nothing wrong with being inquisitive. But my privacy is important to me...and I can truthfully say the same for my employer." He smiled wryly, and wishing her a good day, he climbed into the saddle.

"Mr...Nadir? My name is Christine," then almost too late, she hurriedly asked him. "When is the new owner arriving?"

Nadir Khan smiled down at her and tipped his hat. "Soon, Christine...very soon." He turned the horse's head, and with the creak of saddle leather, trotted off down the street.

She walked along the board sidewalk, thinking to stop in at Harkin's General Store and look at hair ribbons. Morrison's was out of the color she wanted, but she forgot all about ribbons when a familiar face came into view.

"Christine! Hello."

He removed his cap hurriedly, and she hid her grin at the blonde hair which stood straight up on his head. He looked her surreptitiously up and down, feeling slightly surprised that he was happy to see her again.

"Hello, Raoul. What brings you to town?" She stood there shifting the packages to her other arm, feeling the hot sun settling on her shoulders and the back of her neck.

He held a small paper sack up and shook it. "Horehound candy. My sister's been sick and my mother sent me for Clara's favorite treat. She's almost better now, and soon I won't be an errand boy anymore." He made a face. "Well, not hers anyway."

"Mine are done for now and I'm on my way home."

"Can I walk with you?" he asked hesitantly, scuffling a foot in the dirt, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed nervously.

She nodded, smiling as he fell in beside her.

She was glad she had on one of her nicest dresses; a pale yellow dimity with white lace trim around the sleeves and neckline. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun with a few golden tendrils escaping from beneath her hat and framing her face. Raoul thought she looked very pretty.

He looked over at his companion, desperately searching for something to say. "Uh...it'll soon be October. Th-That's my favorite time of the year." He leaned in a little closer to her. "Can you keep a secret?"

Christine nodded vigorously, proud that he would trust her enough to keep it. "I won't tell anyone. Promise and hope to die." She solemnly crossed herself, and put up one slender hand.

"Well...me and the fellas are planning something for All Hallows Eve."

She was surprised. "We're still in September, Raoul. A little early to be thinking of that, isn't it?"

"We're going to soap windows and we have to save up all the pieces we can get. Want to help?"

She laughed. "Only if I get to soap some windows too."

She had surprised him yet again. "Uh...well, I meant...could you save up your soap pieces?" Then he added hastily, "But if you want to help us, I reckon you can."

He said it quickly before he lost his nerve. "You sure are game...for a girl."

She blushed and felt a swell of pride at his praise.

We're making a bonfire that night too, so any type of wood you can bring will help a lot."

She thought of her friend. "Can I bring Meg along?"

She watched his mouth turn down and added hastily. "She's all right. You can trust her, same as me."

They had started down the last street before hers and that's where he was leaving her. "Sure." he said finally. "Bring her along. Make certain she has soap with her though. We'll meet up in front of Wendell Drake's house just after dark...it's right down the street from yours."

"I know it. Goodbye, Raoul."

"So long, Christine. Don't forget."

"I won't." She started walking down Messanie St., but turned around one more time and waved, before disappearing from view.

He watched where she'd been a moment longer, then walked away quickly, whistling a tune.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

On Saturday morning, Christine heard the jingling of harness and rumbling from the many wagons on the street out front. She was in the carriage house and had the mare tied to the outside of the stall currying her, surrounded by the familiar smells of oiled leather and sweet hay when she heard Meg calling her name.

She quickly turned Nellie out in the small paddock behind the carriage house and hurried out front. She glanced quickly at the sky, noticing the clouds for the first time. A breeze had sprung up from the time she'd started working on the mare, and she lifted her face to it. It felt good.

"Christine! You _must_ come and see! The furniture is lovely and...and there's a _huge_ piano! And another wagon has pipes of all different sizes! Come quick!"

Meg's excitement had rapidly transferred to Christine, and the two girls nearly ran to the front yard, avidly watching the procession of goods being delivered to Archer House. Beautiful mahogany and rosewood peeked through the tarps, and a very large piano, its shape readily discernible underneath the covering.

But what really caught their interest, was the wagon with the numerous pipes, laid carefully on a bed of straw, the covering over top of them, flapping in the breeze enough to reveal the treasure beneath, and another with an instrument that looked very much like the organ played every Sunday for the congregation, with its multiple manuals and stops. It was wondrous to look at all the wealth and richness arriving at one time. But then, there were many rooms to fill up, and one alone no doubt, just to hold the massive organ.

"Why Meg! It will take an army of men to carry that thing! But it's so beautiful! Imagine being able to play it."

Even her aunt and Hannah had come out front to watch the procession down the street. "I declare, Hannah! There's enough furnishings to fill every room in that white elephant! It's none of my business, to be sure, but what does one man want with all _that_ and no wife and children?"

Hannah turned to go back inside and held the door open for Meg and Christine. "You girls have more to do than watch that house from dawn till dusk. Seems like that's all you two do anymore."

She looked at Edna and shrugged. "I don't know, Missus. Could be...those things _are_ his wife and children."

The men had worked at the Archer place all day, carrying and lugging all the household goods through every available door. Christine had seen Nadir many times over the course of the day, always in constant motion directing all the trade people and haulers to wherever he wanted the things placed.

By the end of the day, and with evening coming on, the last wagon finally left and quiet returned, only to become noisy once again from the approaching storm. Just before dinner, Christine read the latest installment of Phantom Trails again to Hannah as the older woman worked in the kitchen. Christine looked up at her when she finished and sighed.

"He's so brave! To take on all those horrible men all by himself! I've heard Texas is practically wild and lawless...he's lucky he's never been hurt badly. Who would take care of him?

"Hannah...do you think he has a wife...or a lady friend?"

The housekeeper snorted as she peeled potatoes. "Probably dozens, Christine. In every cow town between here and the Rio Grande."

"Why do you say that? A man can only have one at a time, can't he?"

Hannah coughed and indicated the plates in the pantry. "Be a good girl and help Meg set the table, will you?"

After they'd eaten, Christine sat in the parlor playing on the upright piano. She did well enough to amuse herself and she would play and sing the songs which meant the most to her, such as the lullabies her father had played on the violin...just for her. How she missed him! They had been so close, especially after he'd become ill; she had spent many hours reading to him while he rested on his bed, exhausted from only a little activity. He'd been sick with the same fever her mother had died from; he'd recovered somewhat, but his heart had been affected. As his health declined even more, he'd requested her to sing for him often...her beautiful young voice easing his pain and disquiet in a small way...easing his agony, knowing that she would soon be all alone.

"You have the most pleasing voice, my flicka! You must promise me to use it to your advantage. Darling...it will take you far someday."

He closed his eyes as she watched him with all of her love shining through. "Rest now, Papa."

He smiled gently at his daughter, so very much like his dear wife, and had reached for her small hand. "I sent a letter to your Aunt Edna a while ago requesting her to take you in when...when I'm no longer here. I expect to hear from her soon."

Christine had started to protest, but Henry stopped her, his blue eyes tired and sad. "She is your mother's sister and I'm sure she will do right by you." He had turned away then, overcome with grief for his little girl.

She had straightened her thin shoulders and smiled through her tears. "It's fine, Papa. I will be fine...don't worry." She stood up and smoothed the blankets over his frail body. "I'm going to fix you a cup of hot tea. All right?"

He'd nodded tiredly as she left him. Eight days later, he was dead.

She looked up from the keys when she heard the first mutterings of thunder; for now faint and still a good distance away. In between the melodies she'd become aware of it, and rising, approached the bow window overlooking the street.

She pulled back the heavy lace curtain and looked out. It was getting dark and the sky was a swirling mass of swiftly moving bruised clouds; it was hard to see much, but she could hear the rising wind and a keening within it, making her a little uneasy. Very little was moving on the street; a couple of barefoot boys carrying fishing poles walked by, laughing and excited at the skirls of dust from the road and the quickening wind. She dropped the curtain and hurried from the room.

She found her aunt at her desk in the dining room writing a letter. "I think this is it. It's getting windier and I heard thunder." she said excitedly.

Edna didn't look up from her writing, but said, "I have to finish this letter, child. Go out while you can and put the mare in her stall. And tell Hannah to make certain the cellar door is closed tightly."

Christine left and went out to the kitchen. Meg was there, drying the dinner dishes. Through the window over the sink, she could see the last of the light being leached from the sky...it looked like a dangerous night was coming on.

"Rain finally, Christine! I'm glad...Mama thought the well might be going dry."

"Where is she?"

"Getting the rugs off the line. If you're going outside, take these scraps for Tidbit, would you?"

Christine took them from her and went out the screen door, the warm wind immediately tugging at her clothes. The cat was waiting for her, mewing indignantly for her supper. She looked around for Hannah, not seeing her, but she heard voices near the carriage house. As she arrived she saw her with Nadir Khan; he was leading a jittery Nellie into her stall while the housekeeper held the door open for him.

"Thank you, Mr. Khan. You've been so kind. She never acted like that before."

Christine noticed Hannah's flushed face and wondered if Nadir had been the cause.

He pushed the mare's door shut and smiled at the housekeeper. "It was the wind, Madame. It had her spooked a little."

They both turned and greeted Christine at the same time. "That's what I was coming to do. Hello, Nadir. Was Nellie a bad girl?"

"Not at all. Just feeling frisky from the change in the weather. And now ladies...if you'll excuse me. I have things to take care of as well, before the storm gets here."

He gave them a slight bow and turned to leave, but hesitated. "This will no doubt be a very bad storm, so finish up quickly out here and go inside."

After he'd gone, the two women did exactly that. Both animals were fed and watered...the doors shut tightly, then they hurried to make sure everything outside was secured or stowed away. As they entered the house with the rugs from the line, they heard the first patters of rain on the roof. Five minutes later, the rain had become a deluge, and the early evening sky was lit with bright flashes of lightning, followed by heavy cracks of thunder. One particular strike made them all jump and it had been close by. Meg went to the kitchen window and looked out.

"It hit a big limb on the elm by the carriage house! Poor Tidbit...she's probably scared to death!"

Hannah eyed her daughter. "She's safe and dry, dear. Right now she's curled up in the straw beside Nellie. You needn't worry."

She went around lighting the lamps, while Edna made sure all the downstairs windows were shut tight. She turned to the girls. "Go up and make certain all those windows are closed...the attic also. We don't need water all over the floors.

"And you may as well get ready for bed, Christine." she added.

They checked all five bedrooms on the second floor and went up to the attic, each carrying a lamp, the yellow glow comforting, surrounded as they were by the encroaching blackness. The storm was growing in intensity, and the rain drummed loudly on the roof...jagged flashes of lightning and the following boom of thunder, making them glad for each others' company. Some of the windows were open under the eaves, where heat had a tendency to build; closing them, they clattered back down the stairs and giggled...excited over the first storm in months.

Christine washed and changed into her nightgown, and sitting at the vanity, she brushed her hair the requisite fifty times until it gleamed. She left it loose for now, golden curls spilling over her shoulders and down her back to her waist...she would braid it later. Meg returned to Christine's room also in her nightgown and watched as the older girl lit the paraffin lamp on her night table, then went to the window overlooking Archer House. Meg wandered over to look out the front and watch the road.

"It's running torrents down the street! I sure wouldn't want to be out in this...a body would more than likely drown!"

As they looked, there was a bluish-white flash which super-imposed itself over their retinas, and for a moment they could see nothing. An ear splitting boom rent the air, causing Meg to throw her hands over her ears, terrified. When their vision had returned, they both cried out in horror as the barn across the street had quickly caught fire, bright orange flames eating hungrily through the old paint and wood of the structure.

"The horses! That's the Robidouxs' barn, Meg!"

The two girls stood trembling, as a number of men converged on the barn, and quickly manhandled the panicked horses out of the building, their shirts thrown hastily over the horses' heads, as billowing smoke roiled out of the entrance. As they watched, weak with relief, they counted the two carriage horses and Mr. Robidoux's bay gelding being led safely out. Within minutes the driving rain had extinguished the flames.

Hannah called up the stairs for Meg, and the younger girl left the room. For the next half hour, Christine stood at the window, observing the lightning display and the sounds of a night gone mad. She felt sorry for any creature, man or beast, out and exposed to it. She hummed under her breath...a lullaby her father used to sing to her after a bad dream had awakened her. It had always had the power to comfort, just as it did now.

The rain pounded on the roof; all the months without water had finally ended, with St. Joe getting it all at one time and more besides. She felt the excitement in the air; an electricity that raised the fine hairs on her arms, and she opened the window once more, smelling the smoke from the smoldering barn, and letting in the rain, the wonderfully refreshing wind and...

Above the lashing of the storm, she heard it. The snort of a horse and the cursing of a male voice. She looked down at the drive of the house next door, but there was only blackness. And then she saw them...and they were looking at her.

Eyes...

Christine gasped, and although startled, she couldn't move...she felt frozen in place, unable to look away and stared in disbelief a moment longer. Then with a slight whimper, she lost her nerve and dropped her gaze. She turned and slid to the floor, knees drawn up and head resting on them.

Meg, coming back into the room, came and knelt down beside her. "What's wrong? Why...you're shaking, Christine!"

She was and didn't know why. There had been a raccoon one night in the woods behind their house. He'd peered at her from the bushes, his eyes glowing and watchful, then he'd quickly vanished.

That's what she'd seen tonight. The only problem...these eyes were hovering well off the ground, and they'd been filled with an intelligence no animal possessed. It had badly frightened her.

She shook her head.

"Um...I-I'm not sure. I thought I saw something out there in the Archer drive. And I heard it too, b-but I'm not sure what it was now."

She stood up on shaky legs and went to the window. Taking a deep breath, she looked out at the stormy night once again, seeing the trees bending in the wind...

And nothing else.

Meg joined her at the window. "Maybe it was a cat."

Christine shook her head absently. "No...not a cat." She lowered the window and turned away. "If there was something there...it's gone now." she said quietly.

She said goodnight to Meg, and sitting at her vanity, she braided her hair, listening to the soothing sound of the rain. It was still a steady downpour, but the storm itself seemed to be slowing. Tomorrow would reveal any more damage done. Before she slid into bed, she went back to the window. Pulling the heavy satin drape aside, she peeked at Archer House again. For the first time ever, in the long window facing hers, she saw lamplight spilling out of the third story window in the tower...

The new owner had arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

Christine yawned widely and went downstairs to breakfast the next morning. She'd only been able to get a small amount of sleep the night before, and in the light of day, she felt silly for all the fuss.

It was certainly embarrassing now, and she was quite sure Meg would tease her about it for a long time to come. Not only that, but she felt certain Hannah would remain tired and cross the whole day through from lack of sleep.

It had all started the night before, during the storm. She had lain in bed, waiting patiently for sleep to come. It hadn't.

The eyes that had stared back at her from the storm lashed night, grew out of proportion, until her fertile imagination was running entirely amok. She convinced herself that whatever was out there wasn't human. It was to her overwrought mind, a creature of the night, one of which she'd had the dubious pleasure of reading about; a lurid tale of blood and enslavement to a creature long dead. This one in particular was a Russian army officer, who just happened to be a vampire. It had been a serial last year in the St. Joseph Gazette, and she and Meg had waited avidly for every installment and devoured it as soon as it came. She was paying dearly now for having read it.

She trembled in her bed for she could almost hear _it_ climbing the side of the house, reaching with long pale hands for her window, the fiery eyes wide and staring, _its_ teeth pointed and sharp. With a cry, she dove further under the blankets, cursing in an unladylike way, the fact that she'd ever read that awful story.

That was when she heard the crash from the attic.

She sat up in bed, quaking with fear. _Didn't vampires turn into bats?_ _It was a bat up there!_ "Ah min Gud!" she squeaked, not wanting to be alone one minute longer. She heard the wind outside the house and swore she heard voices in it. _Moaning_ voices.

_Very well_. _On the count of five_, _I'll jump up_ _and run down the hall to the Girys' room, _she told herself, heart pounding. She counted to five and her body stubbornly refused to move. _All right_, _Christine Nielsson Daae_. _On the count of ten,__ get up and calmly walk out of here._ Ten came and went by, and she _still_ couldn't move...fear of the unknown had frozen her in place.

A scratching at the window was finally the impetus she needed. She shot out of bed and flew out the door as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at her bare heels. She went to the end of the hall, and opened a door onto a short flight of stairs and into a much smaller hallway with a single door. Not stopping, she turned the knob and ran quickly over to Meg's trundle bed in the corner of the room.

"Meg!" she whispered, shaking the sleeping girl's shoulder urgently. She felt somewhat calmer listening to Hannah's snores from the other bed, but she was still frightened.

"...what?" Meg mumbled sleepily.

"I-I had a nightmare. C-Can I sleep with you?" The truth wouldn't do right now...better for her to call it a nightmare.

"Christine? What are you doing?" Hannah sat up in bed and looked owlishly across the room, her dark hair in a thick braid lying over one shoulder. "What's wrong, child?"

"She had a bad dream, Mama. She wants to sleep with me." Meg said yawning.

"Land's sake...that bed isn't big enough for the two of you." She sighed wearily. "All right then. Come on...you can sleep with me."

A relieved Christine got into bed with Hannah, feeling safe at last. _Nothing_ would get past the housekeeper. She scooted down in the bed and gratefully closed her eyes, the stormy night no longer having the power to frighten her. Just then, a bright flash at the window lightened the room momentarily, followed by a peal of thunder; the storm wasn't through just yet, and Christine quickly yanked the covers over her head.

"Mama?"

"What now, Meg?" Hannah said tiredly.

"Can I come over there too?"

The three of them in one bed had made for a fairly sleepless night, but at least the glowing yellow eyes had ceased to haunt her.

Her silly fancies from the night before had turned out to be a crow getting lost in the storm, and coming through the attic window. Not a bat, she scoffed, no longer frightened with daylight pouring in the windows. Hannah had stuffed some cloth in the hole until they could get the glazier out to the house.

She went out the front door and looked at the muddy street before her. It was more a river of mud than a road, with sizable puddles everywhere. The town had authorized money for the paving of more roads in St. Joe, slated for the following year, and theirs was one of them. Looking at the water and mud now, it couldn't be too soon. She saw some people standing near what was left of the Robidoux barn. She picked her way very carefully across the street and walked up to Mrs. Robidoux, who was holding her baby daughter on one broad hip, talking with Samuel Sorelli. Mr. Sorelli lived in the large brick house on the other side of the Archer place, and was one of the men leading a horse from the burning barn the night before. He was minus a coat, but wore vest and cravat, shirt sleeves rolled carelessly to the elbows. A derby was pushed back on his balding head and an unlit cigar was clamped between his teeth. Christine grinned. Whatever else happened, be it storm or fire...a gentleman never left home without his hat.

Sarah Robidoux was a tall buxom redhead with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Christine liked her a lot; Sarah wasn't much older than she, but Christine had a difficult time picturing herself as a mother, and although she wanted babies someday, she wasn't ready for them just yet. But she loved holding Sarah's little girl, Abby, who was seven months old. They exchanged greetings, then the younger woman held out her hands and Abby fought to leave her mother's arms for Christine's.

"Go then, Abby!" she laughed, handing the little girl to Christine.

"Mr. Sorelli told me the man who helped with the horses last night lives at Archer house. I've seen him over there, but I didn't realize the owner wasn't there as well. I'm sure Albert will want to be thanking him again...that gelding of his can be a handful, and Mr. Khan took hold of him like he was a docile old mare."

"He's a man that knows horses, I'll wager." said Mr. Sorelli, who tipped his hat to the ladies, his large mustache drooping over his mouth. He took his leave and started home.

Samuel Sorelli was the former manager of St. Joseph's only opera house before that structure had caught fire, and he missed it; for the past year and a half, he'd been making the ten mile round trip to Wathena, Kansas to manage the Portage Theatre there. If the opera house was ever under new ownership and renovated, he wanted to be the first to know...he would love to have his old position back again.

Christine bounced Abby on her hip and tickled her, getting the baby to squeal with delight. "Mr. Khan is a nice man. He helped Hannah with our mare yesterday when she got spooked by the storm." she told Mrs. Robidoux.

She turned when someone called her name, and saw Becky Drake walking toward them, stepping daintily around the puddles, and carefully keeping her blue dress out of the mud. She was a delicate looking girl with light brown hair, curled in large ringlets, currently pulled back with a wide blue bow that matched her dress, and Christine knew from experience that she liked nothing better than talking about herself.

After a hasty greeting to the women, she turned to Christine. "Did you know my mother sent away to St. Louis for our new piano? It's a Steinway, Christine. Father said only the best for _his_ little songbird. You _must_ come and see it when it arrives. Say you will. Say it!"

"Of course I will, Becky. That's wonderful!" She worked very hard not to make a face, but Becky Drake could be insufferable.

Becky held her hands out to Abby, but the little girl turned away and buried her head in Christine's shoulder. She shrugged and looked with curiosity at Archer House. "That man that lives over there, the dark one...Mother says he's a gypsy and to keep my distance from him. Mrs. Morrison told her so...he has shifty eyes, she said. Mother says people like him are to be watched close, or your things could end up missing. Gypsies love to steal other folks' babies. Did you know that?" She looked at Abby with pitying eyes. "And Mother says they'll raid a hen house before a body even knows they're around!"

Christine could just see Nadir running from a hen house, a squawking chicken clutched in each hand. The ridiculous notion made her eyes spark, and Mrs. Robidoux gasped. "Why, Becky Drake! You've never even met the man, have you? That's not a Christian thing to say!"

Becky gave an unladylike snort, but Christine handed Abby back to her mother and turned to her.

"You listen here, Becky," her anger swelling until she thought it would choke her, "if you don't know what you're talking about, then you need to stop flapping your gums!"

She advanced on the other girl, making her step back hastily. "Nadir Khan is a gentle, kind man and would no more steal anything, than your brother Wendell could form two honest sentences! And for _your_ information...Nadir is _not_ a gypsy. He...he's a Persian from Iran. Tell your mother _that_...why don't you?"

Becky stared slack jawed at Christine, eyes wide and lips trembling the whole time, flabbergasted at the Daae girl's attack.

"What's _wrong_ with you, Christine Daae? You're mighty uppity all of a sudden! My mother said your aunt lets you have too much rope and...and you'll hang yourself with it someday!"

Christine had heard enough. Hands on hips she looked the other girl square in the eye and said through clenched teeth, "Run along home now, Becky. Your mother wants you! Maybe that new piano has arrived and Father's little songbird can plink and warble for him!"

Becky looked across the street and saw Meg picking her way around the mud puddles and coming in their direction. She looked back at Christine again. "This is far from over." she said, and giving her an evil look, she started back up the street. A wagon loaded with straw passed Meg as she reached Christine and a moment later they all turned in surprise when Becky started screaming shrilly. Meg remained straight-faced for perhaps three seconds, then started to giggle helplessly, followed by Christine, who felt that maybe...just maybe, there was poetic justice in the world after all.

The loaded wagon had gone into a mud puddle directly opposite the pristine Becky, and splashed her liberally...she was covered head to toe in muddy water. She stood there looking down at her ruined dress, her ringlets dripping, the blue bow wet and limp as a rag. Worked up to a rage, she started shouting nasty epithets at the wagon driver about his questionable parentage.

"I declare," said Mrs. Robidoux, shocked. "She has no room to talk, does she? She's a piece of work if there ever was one!"

Meg finally stopped laughing long enough to tell Christine breakfast was ready. Saying goodbye to Sarah Robidoux and Abby, they crossed the wet street once again, Christine telling Meg about the argument.

"I wish I could have been there to see it. She needs to be put in her place a little more often. This isn't the first time you've had it out with her...but she always comes back for more, doesn't she?" said Meg sourly. "And _why_ do they keep telling her she has a lovely voice? When Mama hears a noise like that, she throws water on it thinking it's a cat in heat." She grinned. "Gypsies steal babies, eh? Too bad they weren't around when Becky was born!"

Christine laughed and took her arm, helping to pilot them around the standing water. She looked at the gray clouds racing across the lowered sky, thinking there would be another deluge along very soon.

After a breakfast of porridge and toasted bread, she went to the kitchen to grab an apple for the mare and scraps for Tidbit. She was anxious to check the damage from the storm as well. She was surprised to see Nadir sitting at the table having coffee with Hannah.

"Good morning, Christine." he said jovially. "I see you survived the storm."

She looked at Hannah thinking of the three of them in the cramped bed last night and smiled. It was rather funny now.

"Yes...we all did, except for the Robidouxs' barn. Mrs. Robidoux is grateful to you for helping last night with the horses." Then she remembered the light in the highest window. "Nadir...I saw a light last night in the tower. Did the owner finally arrive?"

The Persian snorted. "Yes. Yes he did. And not in a good frame of mind either. It was the height of the storm and I'm afraid he was muddy and soaked through."

She shot a look at Hannah, then said to him, "You never did tell us his name."

The housekeeper gave her a stern look. "You don't have to answer that, Nadir. Christine _knows_ better than to be forward like that." And Hannah sent another quelling look her way.

"Quite... all right." he said in a hesitant tone, then cleared his throat. "It's...it's...A-Archer." he said weakly, vastly uncomfortable when the two women stared at him in shocked surprise.

"Archer? Is he related to the man who built the house?" Christine blurted out.

Another glacial look from Hannah, but she turned to Nadir, just as curious now as Christine for the answer.

"Ah...no, just one of those interesting coincidences. Life is st-strange, is it not?"

Christine nodded, noting his discomfort; she didn't think he was being completely honest with them, but dropped the subject, only wanting to go and see how the animals fared during the storm.

She excused herself and went out to the carriage house. The yard was full of blown down branches, good sized limbs and soggy ground that squelched underfoot. Once in a while she could hear the splashing of buggy wheels in the puddles out front. The sky was still overcast, and it appeared that more rain was coming, but the freshness of the cooler air felt wonderful after the long dry months.

She opened the doors of the carriage house and Tidbit ran to her, bumping against her legs and letting Christine know just how glad she was to see her. She turned Nellie out in the muddy paddock and filled her feed box with oats. She raked out the soiled straw and put in a layer of fresh bedding, then she closed the front set of doors, allowing the mare access to her grain. She took a walk around the storm littered yard. One fairly large tree limb had come down on the grape arbor, crushing a good bit of the vines.

Archer House had weathered the storm with no damage that she could see. Some small limbs blown down, but not much more than that. She glanced toward the Archer carriage house and noticed a handsome black horse in the paddock alongside the building. She was tall, probably over seventeen hands and powerfully built, with a graceful curving neck. Smart too. The mare was watching her carefully, her ears pricked forward inquisitively.

She walked over to the side of the house where her bedroom was, and looked up at her window. A long thick vine of the English ivy Aunt Edna was so fond of, was lying partially across the window sill, having come loose from the rest of the vines that had climbed to the second story of the house.

She grinned, imagining those long, pale fingers of the vampire being nothing more than a stray vine. Daylight had taken the unknown and mysterious night, making it mundane and normal once more. She was slightly disappointed at how quickly life could become dull again. She turned to leave and by chance, glanced up at the house next door. Movement caught her eye. The curtain in one of the downstairs rooms had been twitched back into place. Someone had been watching her from the window.

Mr. Archer, maybe? Christine snorted. Archer indeed. Nadir Khan was a nice gentleman, and she liked him, but something was off about the new owner of Archer House. For instance. It was daylight and the old man was nowhere in sight; wouldn't he have some concerns about any damage done to his property during the storm? He'd arrived last night in a driving rain...well after dark...shouldn't he be curious about his new home? His neighbors? And not the kind of curiosity that gets satisfied behind a curtained window. Perhaps because of his age and exposure to the weather last night, he'd caught a chill and was confined to his bed. After all, old men could be quite feeble. But wouldn't Nadir have mentioned that? Before she could ponder it any further, it began to rain again, and taking one last look around, she headed inside.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

She braided her hair for the night, and slipping her robe over her nightgown, crossed to the window that looked out upon Archer House. The rain and wind were finally done after two days of gray, weepy skies. The restlessness of being cooped up indoors, working on samplers, cleaning, helping in the kitchen and anything else the two older women had her and Meg doing to keep them occupied, was thankfully over as well. Her cross-stitching had come out the worse for wear, for it looked nothing like what her aunt had intended. Irritability at being stuck inside the house, had caused her to take out her frustration on the sampler. She had no patience for it and it showed. The fuchsias and rosebud pattern, which her aunt had chosen for her, little resembled something that anyone would want hanging on a wall.

The temperature had dropped with the arrival of the rain; the air was cooler and so were the tempers. The handyman that did odd jobs for her aunt had worked at the house on Monday, cutting up the large tree limbs which had fallen during the storm, and cleaning up all the other debris. Normally a taciturn man, he was almost cheerful that morning; he had plenty of jobs lined up, which meant his family would eat well through the winter, and he was no longer forced to work in the repressive heat.

Joe the glazier had also become lucky from the powerful storm, and he wasn't able to visit their house until well into Tuesday afternoon. But when he did arrive, his light mood was readily apparent, for he talked to Hannah a good deal while replacing the attic window. His thirteen year old son was there as well.

"Ay, Missus...I've had to get my boy to help out with the work I been gettin'. Had to pull him from school, an his ma wasn't none too happy bout that, I can tell you, but I had to do it. Too much work just for me."

He laid down a large square of oilcloth and meticulously set his tools out on it; little triangular nails, chisels, a clean rag and a hammer. He squatted down and rummaged in his tool chest for the putty, then stood up.

"He might not be gettin' back to school anytime soon neither. I got all these jobs lined up, an I need to get 'em all done soon as I can."

A wide grin split his face and to Christine he looked positively delighted. "I have one of the biggest jobs I ever been set to do." There was a lengthy pause, building his audience's suspense, which consisted of Christine and Hannah.

"I been hired to work on the new opry house, Missus. That will be steady work for me _and_ my son...I'll have to hire on extra men as it is, but it'll be good for my business." he said with pride.

Hannah heard this and wondered if Edna knew the opera house was set to eventually reopen. If she knew, she was being very closed-mouthed about it. As it turned out, when Hannah passed this news on to her employer, she had been surprised, and for Edna, excited.

"I knew it! That's been the talk for a while now. Why... just think, Christine! Mozart and Gounod! We have been in a desert for far too long. _You _especially will love it once more...I know you will." Aunt Edna looked puzzled. "But I wonder why no one else knows the work is commencing? Surely one of the ladies would have said something by now. Wouldn't the mayor know the opera house is being renovated? Or Maude's husband, who is one of the best lawyers in this town? The glazier knows more than I do." she complained.

Christine now wondered the same thing herself. She agreed with her aunt...it _was_ a bit of a mystery as to who owned the theatre, but to have beautiful music again on a regular basis would be a wonderful thing.

She pushed up the window, allowing the cooler air into the room. It was a lovely night, still and calm, and she felt invigorated after the cleansing rains, but she was eager to be outdoors once again. Maybe she'd meet up with Meg after school and they could walk to Harkin's store and browse a bit.

The piano music filtered softly through to her thoughts, and lifting her head, she listened closely, entranced. It soon registered with her where the music was coming from...Archer House. There was a vast amount of skill being displayed, and knowing the melody, she found herself humming along, surprised at first, then delighted. The pull to give breath to the lyrics, became too strong to resist, and soon she was living in the music and singing full voice. The pianist unknowingly accompanied her, but suddenly the lovely music stopped.

One beat. Then two. On the third it resumed, only this time it was fortissimo. Ah...she thought, as she picked up the melody on the next measure.

_He knows._

She sang joyfully, reaching out to the invisible musician and introducing herself with her voice. She had never heard such beautiful playing...so much emotion in one soul...it made her heart ache to hear it. Her clear and precise soprano flew up and landed lightly on the notes, soaring ever higher, the pianist keeping pace flawlessly, as if the two of them had done this many times before. They were one in the music; melody and lyrics entwined in a consummation of sorts. She sang to the night, to the beauty of that moment in time, touched beyond words. But eventually the music ended, as did her part in it. The night grew quiet once more and Christine's breathing slowed and returned to normal; she felt a twinge of sorrow at the absence of the melody, but hard on the heels of the sadness came a tiny moment of pure joy.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had taken place tonight; that in some unimaginable way, her life had just changed. Of course it hadn't, she scoffed, but it wasn't every day that she sang Je veux vivre, accompanied by an extraordinary pianist whose name she didn't know. She raised bright eyes toward Archer House and saw the yellow lamplight spilling from the highest window in the tower...

And a dark silhouette standing motionless, looking down on her.

She couldn't be certain, but Christine would swear their gazes had locked. In a single swift moment, she felt a shiver of excitement race up her spine. Then it was gone, barely registering. There was no detail to the person in the window. Only shadow.

Before she could change her mind, she steepled both hands together, and bowing her head over them, paid tribute to the remarkable skill she'd been privileged to hear. The figure in the window returned the compliment, making a graceful and exaggerated bow, then he was gone and the tower room went dark.

Christine finally left the window and slid into bed, pulling the covers close. She lay there thinking. Was it...

_Mr. Archer?_


	5. Chapter 5

"Christine! Did you hear me?"

Startled out of her reverie, she looked up from her plate. "I...I'm sorry, Auntie. What did you say?" She took another bite of roast beef and watched Edna expectantly, sitting up straighter in her chair just in case her posture was the culprit.

Her aunt wiped her mouth and took a sip of water. "I _said_...Sylvia Rutherford told me yesterday that the work on the opera house is going very well. The stage has been repaired and the refinishing of it is nearly done now. They'll soon be working on the auditorium itself...she said the seating is going to be red to match the stage curtains, and the walls are to be gold damask..."

Christine was no longer listening, only registering the murmur of her voice, while she pushed her potatoes and peas around the plate absently, wrinkling her nose in thought, until Edna forcefully brought her back to the present. Again.

"Am I _boring_ you, niece?" Her aunt was looking at her, with what Meg called, the Evil Blue Eye.

"No, Ma'am...of course not. I was just thinking...um..." She tried to pick up the thread of conversation. "Um...how does Mrs. Rutherford know what's going on inside the opera? It's not as if _she's _been inside."

Edna looked disagreeably at her niece. "Well, of course she hasn't, but her friend Matilda Johnson has a maid who's brother knows a man who _has _been...he's one of the carpenters hired for the renovation, and I'm certain _he_ would know." She looked thoughtfully at Christine. "Although the new owner _still_ hasn't been identified yet. Very curious." She sighed and gave her a brief smile. "No matter...it will be absolutely beautiful when it's finished."

Christine wasn't so sure of that, especially after the information made the rounds of so many people; they might not even be talking about the same building.

Edna watched her niece for a minute, then said in exasperation, "Heaven's sake, Christine! Stop playing with your food and eat it! What is wrong with you today?"

She put down her fork and looked up at her aunt. She wasn't quite sure what to tell her; Christine didn't think she would be happy knowing her niece had eavesdropped shamelessly on a conversation the night before. A conversation that still made her blush when she thought of it. She took another large bite of food; at least she wouldn't have to say anything while her mouth was full.

Hannah came into the dining room to remove some of the plates and noticed Christine chewing and staring absently at the large vase of yellow chrysanthemums on the mahogany sideboard. "Do you think you'll be done eating before bedtime?" she said gruffly.

Christine swallowed and reached for her water. "I'm finished, Hannah." she said quietly.

"Good. Now be so kind as to tell me what is on your mind? You haven't heard a word I've said since we sat down." her aunt snapped. "And sit up straight...you're slouching."

Put on the spot, she said the first thing to pop into her head. "Ah...I was just thinking...that after my birthday next month, I'll only have a year to wait, and then I'll be going to St. Louis."

Aunt Edna's eyes softened a bit. "Well, of course you're excited...that's to be expected, but you need to be patient. After all, it's still months away. Now...if you're through eating, run along so Hannah can clean up."

Christine let out a relieved sigh and excused herself from the table. Hannah caught her before she could get out the door. "I need laundry soap from Morrison's for my washing on Monday. Tell Harriet a whole pound of Armour's this time. You and Meg can get it for me tomorrow." She shook her head and started clearing the table. "I seem to run out of it quick anymore." she muttered to herself.

Christine nodded and escaped to her room. She would have to tell Meg to shave off smaller pieces, before Hannah got wise to them. She automatically went to the window overlooking Archer House. She sat down in the rose brocaded chair and looked at the tree tops in the distance, and beyond them to the Missouri River, a bright glowing ribbon moving serenely past St. Joe on its way to Kansas City, and thought again of the conversation she'd overheard the night before.

Hannah had given her a tin of salve from the farrier in town to use on the mare. She had developed a sore on her withers, and Christine had gone out to the carriage house just after dark to rub some into the affected area. She had taken care of Nellie and exiting her stall, extinguished the lantern and started back to the house. Halfway there, she'd heard the voices coming from the carriage house next door at Archer's.

She stopped and turned toward the building, curious about the identity of the men speaking and crept closer. In the two weeks since the storm, no one had seen the new resident of Broad St. That fact alone made everyone all the more eager to get a glimpse of him, including herself. He had become one of the main topics of conversation among the old ladies, and they all wanted to say they'd been the first to make his acquaintance...so far no one could claim that honor. Even Christine couldn't, but in a way, she felt that she _did _know him a bit.

Especially since she had listened for the piano after that first night, and every so often, he had obliged her with beautiful, flowing music. _He _played it all; Mozart, Beethoven, Verdi...all the masters, and to the best of her ability, she sang along, and if she wasn't familiar with the piece, she would listen raptly. Two nights before, _he _played the violin for her and once again, she was astounded by the skill _he_ possessed. The lovely sounds pouring forth from the strings brought her father to mind, and she'd felt a growing lump in her throat.

One calm night she had positioned herself by the open window and gazed on the third story light in the tower. Before too many minutes had gone by, Christine heard a C major scale being played, and taking her cue, she warmed her voice until the music segued into Caro nome, and she began Gilda's aria from Rigoletto. She opened her mouth wide, projecting her voice across the space between the two houses. She concentrated on his accompaniment, doing her best in the aria, realizing how immature her voice was, but feeling the joy once again, and was grateful to her aunt for passing on the love of opera to her. She knew many of the arias, having listened to and sung them since the age of ten.

_His _playing was meticulous and lovely, and their connection through the music became stronger. Once the aria was finished, Christine saluted him yet again, and he bowed elegantly in return, always a polite shadow, limned in the lamplight, yet so strangely featureless. They continued their eccentric _meetings_ over the next two weeks, and to her knowledge, no one except Meg was aware of them. The younger girl had come into her room one night as she was standing at the window, and after a pink cheeked Christine explained what was going on, Meg had been childishly delighted.

"But it's so romantic! Even if it's only Mr. Archer...it's sweet. Wouldn't you like to meet him?" she asked curiously.

Christine grasped Meg by the arms. "Don't tell anyone, Meggie. All right?"

The younger girl shook her head, brown eyes solemn. "I won't. Promise. But...why ever not?"

Christine shrugged her slim shoulders. "I...I really don't know. Just don't..._please_?"

She wasn't sure why the need for secrecy, but for now she was satisfied that Meg would keep quiet. Of course, anyone could hear their music at any time, and if someone _did..._well, they were doing no harm. But still she felt that if her aunt knew of their _sessions_, her maestro would stop playing for her.

And she was becoming even more curious about the mysterious Mr. Archer, if in fact it _was_ him. Someday though, she hoped to have his identity finally revealed, and maybe continue this...in the same room.

Nadir had not been forthcoming when she questioned him. When she asked the whereabouts of the new owner of Archer House, he merely said he was very busy and couldn't be disturbed.

But she had a moment of uneasiness, when he looked at her speculatively, then said, "Mr. Archer is..." He stopped, carefully choosing his next words.

The Persian sighed heavily. "Mr. Archer, Christine...is not like other men." he said finally. "He keeps to himself. He's...well, it's best to leave him alone. Try...please try to remember that." He looked at her as if he wanted to say more.

With Hannah looking on, it was impossible to gain anything else. Nadir seemed nervous speaking of his employer and she was left wondering why.

And then the voices from the property next door had led her to believe one of them was the elusive Mr. Archer, and Christine became intrigued at the prospect of hearing him for the very first time. Of course, she was only assuming it was him, but who else would it be? With her excitement and curiosity growing, she got as close to the carriage house as she dared and caught the tail end of the conversation.

"...piece of horseflesh to be sure, but a little rough around the edges. I know of a nice stud for sale...fast and with good stamina." Nadir was saying.

Silence for a beat, then a short, bitter laugh. "Erik much prefers the mare, daroga. It's the only female _he'll _ever have moving beneath him." the stranger uttered in a coldly beautiful voice.

"Yes...well," The Persian cleared his throat, "speaking of females. We uh, need to talk." Nadir said in a tone Christine had never heard from him, but she'd had enough, and blushing furiously, she started backing away from her hiding place. _That voice_! _It was not that of an old man._.._it was young and vibrant_..._so it couldn't possibly be Mr. Archer._ _Someone visiting perhaps._ _Someone not too fond of a man named Erik_.

She got to the grape arbor and walked faster, embarrassed by the man's crude words, raising a hand to a cheek still flushed. But it wasn't as if he knew a young woman was listening to him. She had learned nothing at all, but she wouldn't forget that voice. She hung the lantern on the nail by the kitchen door and had gone inside.

She sighed now as she sat there, longing for the evening and her musician. But as night came on and Christine retired to her room, it remained quiet, except for the breeze rustling the autumn leaves. There was no piano music that night...she had waited in vain by her open window, watching the tower, but it remained dark and silent. Finally, with an ache in her chest, she closed the window firmly and went to bed.

The same the following night.

And the next.

This went on until the end of October; she finally stopped going to the window, and now thought of those evenings as a sweet interlude and nothing more. The weather had cooled considerably, and the trees were already losing the bright and showy leaves of fall. The days were filled with sunshine and still held a bit of warmth, but the nights had some bite to them, preparing St. Joe for winter once again.

They got themselves ready for All Hallows Eve, dressing in their oldest clothes and the ankle length, white dusters they kept for barn work. They collected their soap pieces and grabbed some small logs from the wood pile out back. The night was clear and cool, both girls excited about an evening involving a little harmless mischief.

They had not been entirely honest with Aunt Edna and Hannah. No mention was made of soaping windows...the women would have been appalled, her aunt especially; only the bonfire was spoken of, and Edna had given reluctant approval for her to join the others, so with some nervousness, they walked up the street to the meeting place near Wendell Drake's home. Christine looked up at the night sky, seeing the perfect round globe of the full moon, it's light bathing the earth below in milky radiance.

They could see the fire burning merrily and smell the smoke as they made the bend; the boys had built it in the empty lot next to the Drakes'. Meg skipped ahead, thrilled to be included in what they were doing. She felt for the soap pieces shoved down in the pocket of her duster, then reminded her friend of the plans they had for midnight.

"I read about it in a book. It has to be done at midnight on All Hallows Eve and you want the peel to be one long strip. Then you throw it over your shoulder and...ta dum! When it falls, the peel will be in the shape of an initial...the first initial of the man you'll marry. Still interested, Christine?"

She was amused at Meg's eagerness, but nodded. "It would sure help me to know the name of the man I'm going to wed someday," and she linked her arm with her friend's and laughed. "I can get a head start on all those embroidered handkerchiefs that Aunt Edna will have me sewing for him."

Christine spotted Raoul right away, standing with Becky Drake and Gabe Rafferty, the very same boy from that day at Miller's Pond. The two girls walked up to the others, Becky eying them warily. Wendell Drake threw a rickety foot stool onto the fire and the flames licked at it, flaring up with a whoosh of sparks as it consumed the flaking paint. He was a short, heavy boy with limp brown hair and close set watery eyes...to Christine, he always looked at her as if she was standing before him wearing nothing but her camisole and drawers. It made her skin crawl.

She introduced Meg to Raoul, ignoring Becky and Gabe, surprised at her friend's shyness in front of the blonde haired de Chagny. Raoul said hello to Meg, then turned to Christine, already forgetting the little Giry. He was wearing rough workman's clothes and a cloth cap, but to Christine and Meg he looked very dashing.

There were five other boys in the group and they were busy feeding the fire and circling it just as the ancient Druids might have done during the celebration of Samhain, the red-orange of the flames re-casting their faces with a savage glee. Gabe Rafferty took a wooden rake and pushed some of the glowing embers back into the fire, tapping the tines of the rake on the ground as they began to smolder.

Raoul smiled at Christine and waved a hand at the bonfire. "It's going good. I'm sure glad you could come tonight. It'll be fun."

She smiled back, happy to be with him again. "Yes, it will." she said shyly. "We've never done anything like this before." She put one slender hand in the pocket of her long coat and pulled out her soap pieces. "We came prepared too."

Meg, not to be outdone, showed him her soap. "How are these, R-Raoul?" she said timidly, looking at the handsome boy with eyes fast becoming worshipful where he was concerned.

"Fine." he said, then turned to Christine. "Well, we might as well get started. Some of the fellas will stay here for a while watching the fire. The rest of us will split up, but you're coming with me, all right?"

"Meg too, Raoul."

He nodded, giving the Giry girl another glance, and was about to leave, when Gabe walked up to them and put a hand out, grabbing his arm.

"I'm takin' the Archer place." he said shortly. "I'll get that damned hermit to come outta there. I've got a little surprise for him."

Christine felt a tiny surge of alarm. She didn't trust the Rafferty boy and hadn't since that day at Miller's Pond, conveniently forgetting the fact that her and Meg had been caught watching them.

"No...wait!" she said hurriedly. "Y-You don't want to bother him. He's elderly and...and not well." The little lie wouldn't hurt, but she reckoned he _must _be a little feeble, since he never left the house.

Gabe pushed up beside her and looked her up and down suspiciously. "I know you." he said slowly. "You're the little gal spyin' on us at Miller's last summer, ain't you? Wanted to see what swings between a man's legs...hey!"

Raoul had given him a rough shove, and Rafferty came back at him with hands fisted, ready to fight. Christine and Meg hastily stepped back out of the way, Meg tripping over her own feet, both of them shocked at his crudeness. The boys tending the fire, heard the raised voices, and sensing imminent bloodshed, quickly ringed the two combatants, who were staring hard at each other.

"You best watch your words, Rafferty! There's no call to talk that way!" Raoul said angrily, appraising Gabe carefully, knowing his erstwhile friend was close to throwing a punch at him, but Wendell got between the two young men, a hand on each of them.

"Simmer down, right now! My father wasn't too happy with all this, so you best go your separate ways before he comes out here and _I_ get in trouble."

Both boys stepped back, Rafferty, the slowest...he wanted nothing more than to watch de Chagny's pretty face crumple under his fist and squirt blood. Raoul, taking a deep breath, swallowed his anger and held out his hand. "No hard feelings, right Gabe?"

The other boy stared hard at Raoul's hand, then looked at him, his eyes alight with flames; only a reflection of the large blaze beside him, but it gave Raoul a moment of disquiet.

"Go to hell, de Chagny." he said softly, hating him for no particular reason.

Becky had been listening closely when Gabe mentioned Miller's Pond. She smiled now, delighted at Christine's mortification. "I declare, Christine Daae! Does your aunt know what you were doing last summer?" she said, her tone falsely sweet, and would have continued, but Raoul interrupted her.

"Come on, come on, let's get going before the night's over!" he said impatiently.

"First smart thing you've said all night, de Chagny. I _am _looking forward to this."

Christine looked at Raoul. She didn't like the eager aggression Gabe was showing toward the Archer place, and the way he cradled a large sack he'd picked up off the ground, in one beefy arm. The evening she had so looked forward to was fast disappearing into something small and mean.

"Uh, uh. He's not going to Archer's just to soap windows, Raoul. What's in that bag?" And she gestured at what Rafferty was holding.

He turned to Gabe and asked the same question.

"Horse shit, Miss Nosy." He held the bag open for her and the pungent odor of manure wafted out, joining the night air. "Go ahead...stick your meddling nose in there and take a good whiff, why don't you?"

Christine stepped back hurriedly and looked at him, her unease growing. "W-What are you going to do with it?"

Rafferty made a hasty move toward her. "I can think of something right now I'd like to do with it." he muttered grimly, staring hard at Christine.

Raoul stepped in front of him. "What's it for_,_ Gabe?"

"None of your fuckin' business, de Chagny! What're you listening to _her_ for anyway? You're her damned parrot! She's nothin' but a wet blanket. What're they doin' here anyhow?" he said, eyes narrowed in disgust at Christine and Meg.

He elbowed Raoul out of the way and stalked off, while everyone stood around in awkward embarrassment, shuffling their feet. The boys went back to tending the fire, disappointed there had been no fight...and no blood.

Raoul removed his cap and smoothed his hair back, looking at a distressed Christine. "Aw...he won't do any real harm. He's probably just going to put it in front of the door for somebody to step in." He hesitantly took her by the elbow and steered her away from the bonfire. "Don't worry."

She could only nod, still jittery about Gabe's intentions. He was a surly boy, and she suspected he had a malicious streak of which Raoul was unaware. His prank would not be a harmless one, but she felt the need to apologize to him anyway.

"I'm sorry, Raoul. Really I am. It seems I'm always ruining your fun."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "It's not your fault. He's a hothead. You didn't ruin anything. Come on...let's go."

They all split up, Christine giving Becky one last dirty look before walking away from the light and warmth of the fire with Meg and Raoul. They decided to each take a house on the opposite side of Broad St. and meet up near the large elm on the corner when they were done.

Meg trotted off into the darkness, a nervous giggle escaping, before saying over her shoulder, "See you in a little while."

Christine took the soap from her pocket and approached the house in front of her. A flutter of movement to the left caught her eye, and she watched as Gabe moved quickly down the other side of the street, his intention clear. He was on his way to Archer House, and without further thought as to why, so was she.

Raoul hesitated at her side. "We can stay together, Christine and soap the same house. All right?"

She shook her head, not wanting to completely spoil his evening, but feeling the need to hurry. "No, you go on. We'll meet up just like you said."

He nodded, giving her a last look and slipped off between the houses. She tucked the soap back in her pocket, hoping to keep Gabe in sight. She practically had to run to keep up with his longer strides, at the same time making sure her movements were quiet. It would go badly for her if he knew she was following him. She was out of breath before she finally caught up with him in front of the Sorelli home. She crouched low behind a privet hedge and waited for the boy to make a move. A dog nearby erupted into an explosion of loud barks, and Christine jumped, badly startled, grabbing her chest as her heart trip hammered from fright. She looked around quickly for signs of anyone in their vicinity, and when she turned back, Rafferty was gone.

Panic lacing her movements, she ran past the Sorellis' and reached the outer boundary of the Archer property, grabbing at a stitch in her side, and looked swiftly around for Gabe, who was nowhere in sight. She was determined to stop him from his mischief; she didn't think it was innocent fun he was planning to do; destruction was more likely, and she couldn't allow that. Nadir was her friend and in a strange way, so was Mr. Archer.

She darted between the two properties and went as quietly as possible past the Archer portico and around to the back yard. She brushed a few stray curls away from her face, tucking them with a shaking hand behind her ear, and entered the darker area under the trees, pausing beneath a large maple to get her bearings and catch her breath.

She squinted her eyes when she saw a shadow near the house moving quietly toward a stained glass window on the first floor. Christine started in surprise when she saw Gabe holding the bulky sack in one hand and a lit match in the other.

She took off at a run straight toward him and said fearfully, "What are you _doing?_" She reached him just as he put the tip of the match to the bag, and prepared to toss it through the window. Christine grabbed his arm and held on tightly, thinking miserably that this was going to end badly.

"Are you _insane_? You can't do this, Gabe!" she said frantically, just as he shook her off with a curse and gave her a hard shove backward. She pinwheeled her arms trying desperately to right herself, but lost the battle and connected with the trunk of a tree, pain exploding in the back of her head. She felt blood pooling in her mouth as she painfully bit down on her tongue from the force of the collision.

**"DROP IT, BOY! NOW!"**

The voice boomed and echoed around them, a great and terrible roar of anger, seeming to come from everywhere at once, causing Christine to grab her ears and Gabe to yell in fear, dropping the now flaming bag. In a panic to get away, and not looking back, he tore off down the drive as if winged Satan himself was following behind, the bag soon nothing but a smoldering pile of horse manure and rocks large enough to break a window.

Christine watched as Rafferty fell once to his knees in his mad flight, and with one hysterical look back over his shoulder, quickly scrambled to his feet again and disappeared from view. Her gaze was drawn back to the house, as a dark shape emerged from the deep shadows there and glided toward her. Nervously, she watched its approach...a figure perhaps conjured from her aching head.

"Hello? Nadir?" she called, her voice weak and scared, getting no response. She faced the obscure vision in front of her, trying to remain focused, and was surprised when she heard a deep throated chuckle, causing her to shudder in pure fright. But it also triggered a whisper of memory, which her befuddled mind wouldn't allow to take hold.

To her wobbly senses, the man was death personified...walking the earth on this one night when the veil between the living and dead is briefly lifted away. She was petrified...an evening of frolic had become a nightmare, and she wished for nothing more than to be tucked up safe in her bed.

He moved closer to her and she realized it was a black cloak the man wore, for it swirled around his legs as he walked silently toward the tree where she was crouched. Frightened badly and in pain, she scrambled to her feet, only to put a hand out to steady herself, feeling the rough bark of the tree beneath her fingers as she swayed dizzily.

The impossibly tall shape reached her and bent down. Just before she lost consciousness, her eyes widened in shock as she looked up at his face. She tried to speak...to force sound past her numb lips, but the inky blackness which had started at the periphery of her vision, rose up and enveloped her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Okay. This is one of those chapters that earns an M rating. Sexual situations ****and ****violence. ****Most of the chapter is perfectly fine, but toward the end, it will be deserved. ****And grab a snack...this is a long ****one****. ****Ye have been warned. Oh yeah...I own nothing of PotO in any way, shape or form.**

Yellow eyes.

She nearly screamed out loud as she returned to consciousness. It had been the last sight she'd seen...those inhuman eyes that were not just a pale brown, but the sort of pigmentation she'd only noticed in predatory animals, but never a human. And they'd glowed with an inner light. She'd first glimpsed them on the night of the big storm, and thought them a figment of her imagination. They were not, and it chilled her to the bone to know that; it was no wonder her imagination had become morbid with thoughts of vampires and undead things.

She heard their voices, but did not let on she was awake, feeling the ache in the back of her head and the pain from her bitten tongue. After a minute or so, she cracked an eye open and looked around slowly. She was lying on a divan in what looked to be the drawing room, and she was covered with a heavy green throw. She kept very still and listened, hoping one of them was Nadir, and with relief Christine heard him speaking.

"...didn't say you shouldn't have brought her here. Obviously, you had no choice. But what _happened_ to her?"

She nearly jumped off the divan when she heard the other man answer.

"I explained all of that to you once already. Why must I repeat myself?" the man said, sounding irritable. He paused as if expecting an answer, and not receiving any, he resumed.

"I was leaving the cellar...very soon now, I will have the pitch sounding much the same as that beauty in the Madeleine, daroga. but not nearly the acoustics." he said, sounding disappointed. "I placed the treble part of the compass on a higher pressure than the bass. What I want to emphasize are the melody lines and counteract the natural tendency of the small pipes, especially the reeds, to be softer. And then, my friend, you will hear the perfect sound of the Cavaille-Coll! An instrument surpassed by none! Where was I? Yes. I was leaving the cellar, and when I opened the door, I heard them arguing. Well, to be more precise ...I heard the _girl_ arguing. That idiot boy was all set to throw a bag of horseshit through my window. I rather surprised him, daroga, and I suspect he won't stop running until he gets to Mingo Junction."

Christine could hear the cold amusement in the man's voice...the man she'd eavesdropped on in the carriage house that night. She would recognize _his _voice anywhere.

Nadir sighed wearily. "I barely understood a single word you just said. At any rate, I _meant _ Christine."

"Well, what about her? The oaf pushed her and she hit her head. I came along...yelled at him and he took off like a bat from Hades. The girl fainted when I approached her...strange for her to feel the need to do that, wouldn't you say?" his voice heavy with sarcasm. "And then I carried her in here...end of story. As soon as she's able, _you_ may take her back to her home. I have no use for someone willing to destroy _my _property."

Christine nearly cried out at the rubbish he was spewing, but stopped in time. _How can he think __that?_ She probably had a broken skull from trying to save his precious window.

"That's ridiculous and you know it, my friend. She would never do something like that...she's a sweet girl, and I think you of all people should be aware of that!"

"I most certainly do _not_ know that. How should I, you great booby? And I would thank you to remove her very soon. She was probably trying to grab the bag off the boy and have the honor of breaking my window all to herself. Why else was she with him, I ask you? She's a hoyden, and a little old to be traipsing around bent on destructive mischief."

He started to move away and his voice became fainter. "Take care of her, daroga and I'll be forever in your debt. Just see that she's gone from here, and sooner rather than later. I'll be in the tower."

He was quiet, she would give him that. She never heard him leave...only his voice fading as he moved away. Christine was doing a slow boil, but underneath that was the shock she felt at the man's identity. The man from the carriage house and Mr. Archer were one and the same. And _he_ thought she was as bad as Gabe. _And _he'd called her a hoyden. That hurt.

Nadir came into her field of vision and put a gentle hand on her forehead. She slowly opened her eyes again and squinted against the persistent ache in her head.

"How do you feel, child? You have quite a bump there, but at least the skin isn't broken. Thankfully you weren't out for more than a few minutes."

She moved to sit up and he helped her. She was dizzy yet, but her mind was clearer and she reckoned that in a little while she'd feel better. She took inventory of her hurts and answered him.

"My head _does_ hurt and my tongue is sore where I bit it, but I think I'm well enough to go home, and...and not have to _impose _on Mr. Archer any longer." She couldn't stop the bitterness and Nadir heard it.

"You were awake for that, were you?"

She nodded slowly. "I...I tried to stop Gabe. Really...I did. I followed him down the street and saw what he intended."

Christine glanced at him sadly. "How could _he_ think I was a party to that? Especially after those nights when..." She stopped, not sure if Nadir knew about those evenings of music. She dropped her head and rubbed tiredly at her temples.

"Nadir?" She looked him in the eye and held his gaze. "Before I...just before I fainted...I saw...I thought I saw eyes." She stopped, becoming frightened all over again, then took a deep and shaky breath. "Yellow eyes. They g-glowed. Is...is that even possible?"

"You did hit your head rather hard, Christine." He patted her hand and stood up. "I'm going to fix you a cup of tea, child, and then I'll take you home. But for now, rest there quietly. All right?"

"Why did he call you daroga?"

The Persian turned back to her. "It's a title they give a type of policeman in my country...ah, similar to the one they use in your town for the man who upholds the law...the sheriff."

Christine was more than a little surprised at this. "You were a sheriff in Iran?" She could actually see him in that role, now that she thought about it. He had an air of calm authority about him at all times. It was one of the things she liked about Nadir.

"In a way...yes."

She winced at the pain in her tongue and moved restlessly on the divan.

"Just relax for a few minutes...I'll return soon with your tea. Mrs. Cole is out for the evening visiting her sister, but boiling some water is not beyond me."

He looked at her one last time, then disappeared down a hallway in the back of the house, muttering words in a language she didn't understand. She leaned her head back against the divan, forgetting the bump on her head and grunted from the pain. Maybe she _had_ hallucinated the yellow eyes, but twice? That was difficult to believe.

She sat there for all of two minutes, while the idea formed in her head. Carefully she stood up, feeling a touch of vertigo, but it was over quickly after a few careful steps. Her stomach was queasy, but not overly so. On shaky legs, she went to the front of the house, the deep reds and dark golds of the carpets and wallpaper, immediately catching her eye. The heavy satin draperies were all pulled shut and the glow of gaslight was warm and mellow from the few lamps that were lit against the darkness of night. It was an opulent and beautiful setting; the furniture they had watched being carted into the house, all in place now, the rich woods gleaming with care, but she was certain that even at noon, it would still be dark. It would seem that Mr. Archer had no wish for the bright light of day.

She moved past the heavy entry doors in the large entrance hall and placed an unsure foot on the first carpeted riser of the stairs that reached up to a landing, then curved around to the left and disappeared into murkiness. She mounted the steps slowly...cautiously, and paused on the landing, studying a white marble figure on a bronze pedestal, set into a niche in the corner. She admired the flowing lines of the robes the woman was draped in...the sculpture was at least three feet high and a thing of beauty, with her serene face highlighted by the glow of light from an antique gold wall sconce. As she stared at the woman, her imagination conjured up a lady well known to deep sorrows, but who had persevered to reach a profound and lasting peace. To the left and right of the niche, were large oval, stained glass windows, bright with jewel toned colors, depicting Noah's ark lost on a vast stormy sea and Jesus amid a flock of sheep on a vivid, green hillside.

She furtively reached out and caressed the head of the serene lady, and taking her courage into her hands, she continued on up until she reached the second floor. To her right was a long gloomy hallway with doors tightly shut on both sides, and to her left was a door into what could only be the second floor tower room. In front of her was another set of wooden stairs, the risers bare of carpet and curving gracefully in a wide spiral to the third floor. She stood for a moment hesitating, then without further thought she started up them.

With every step, she felt her nerves ratcheting up until she had to stop and take a few, deep calming breaths, wishing now that she had that cup of tea Nadir had promised her. Christine tentatively felt the lump on the back of her head, hissing as she did so, and continued on up the stairs. Upon arriving on the third floor, the steps ended with the tower room door directly in front of her. Hallways were to her right and left, dark and deserted, and yet another, shorter one directly behind. With a start, she heard very soft piano music coming from the tower room and wondered who she would find in there...from the sound of his voice downstairs, Mr. Archer was far from being the old man she'd imagined. She very slowly approached the door and halted in front of it. She realized she shouldn't be here, but knew her curiosity would have to be satisfied now that she'd come this far. Her heart in her throat, she opened it and stepped inside.

The shadows reached out for her as she stepped across the threshold, and she was immediately aware of the silence. The music had stopped. The light was dim in the room...a heavy brass candelabra was flickering on an immense grand piano near the window overlooking her bedroom. To the left of the door, a fire crackled in a white marble fireplace, plump carved cherubs with sightless eyes lounging at each corner of the elaborate mantlepiece. Her admiring gaze fell again on the gleaming black piano. It was surely nine feet long, if not more; it was a beautiful instrument, and unconsciously, she crept closer to it. The name plate above the keyboard proclaimed it a Bosendorfer Imperial Grand, and its gleaming beauty was a perfect match for the talented pianist she'd heard playing it.

She turned around remembering where she was, and looked toward the baroque fireplace again and the warm fire burning there. "Mr. ..Archer?" she said timidly.

"Who?"

Christine jumped and whirled around at the voice behind her, and stared in disbelief when the candelabra on top of the piano spoke. "What do you want, girl?" The voice was hostile and cold, with no hint of warmth. She watched the flickering light from the candles, wondering what infernal magic had produced the sound.

"Well! Speak up! Why are you here?"

She turned quickly at the man's harsh guttural tones coming from the mouth of a heavy gold scorpion on the mantlepiece at the opposite side of the room. Her eyes widened in fear, and trembling, she backed slowly toward the door, wondering why she'd been so foolish in coming here. She thought briefly that the male voice was a by-product of the blow to her head...an hallucination and no more. But even if this _was_ all in her mind, she was still afraid.

"Leaving so soon?" the voice hissed softly from the front corner of the room. "Why...you've only just arrived." the voice said, an alluring quality to it...to the frightened young woman, it was coldly caressing, and she shook her head in confusion.

With unwilling eyes, she looked to see what inanimate object was speaking to her now, and screamed in fright when she stared into two yellow points of light, glowing like candle flames from the deep shadows. It was her nightmare all over again. She backed up quickly, tripping in her haste to get away, her heart pounding in fear. She turned and ran for the door, feeling caught in the stygian depths of a bad dream...her movements seeming thick and slow as she willed herself to wake up. But _this_ was no dream. As a small child, she'd had her papa check beneath her bed and behind the door for the troll she was certain would get her in the end. He'd finally convinced her that it was only in dreams that _it _existed. She no longer believed that, for the monster _was_ real...he was in this very room with her now.

The door slammed shut just as she reached for the knob. In a panic, she grabbed it, only to find it locked. She was about to start pounding on it, when she heard a humorless laugh behind her. "I wouldn't, girl...that would be the height of rudeness after inviting yourself in here."

The voice she heard now, was the beautifully modulated tenor from downstairs and that night in the carriage house. She realized rather late, that the man who'd played the lovely music while she sang, and the creature whose glowing eyes were staring at her now, were one and the same. The idea of just how naïve she'd been filled her with dismay, and the fact that he was playing a cruel game with her, left her strangely disappointed. She had built up a different picture of him over the weeks...the vision of her music man and the reality were not even close. Slowly she turned around, her back pressed to the wall, still badly frightened, but having nowhere else to go. She tried to appeal to the odd man in the room with her. Afraid to look directly at him, she instead kept her eyes fixed on the heavily curtained window to the right of where he stood.

"Mr. Archer...I...just want you to know...um...I had nothing to do with Gabe Rafferty tonight. I f-followed him here to try and stop him. That's all. Please...will you open the d-door?"

"How would you know _what_ he intended, unless you were with him in the first place? Perhaps you are lying to me now, and only wish to escape any type of punishment after he left you behind." he sneered, his eyes flashing in what she could only assume was anger.

"No. I wasn't with him precisely. I was with my friends in a group. We...we were celebrating All Hallows Eve, sir and...and I heard him telling the others where he was going, and I knew he was going to do something b-bad."

She felt timid and scared with those eyes observing her. She wanted nothing more than to leave this room and this house. He said nothing, but continued watching her. Not knowing what else to do, she appealed to him yet again.

"I would never harm anyone's pr-property and I didn't want him doing it either. And that's how...th-that's why I followed him. Besides...Nadir is my friend and I at least had to try."

Christine wanted to run from there in the worst way; she was locked in a room with a madman, and was fighting hard to remain calm; she held on because she had one more thing to say. It's why she had dared to come here in the first place.

"I...I just wanted to tell you how...how much I enjoyed your music. I looked forward to it on those nights you played and I sang." She put a shaking hand out toward him. "I meant no harm in coming up here. I-I just wanted to finally meet you, and..."

Her throat was dry and her words ended abruptly, unable to continue...aware only of his unblinking perusal. The eyes observed her from the shadows for what felt like hours to her raw nerves, and her skin prickled from the feeling of exposure as he raked his yellow gaze over her. She jumped when the door swung open beside her and she turned toward it, relief making her weak in the knees. Once she was safe at home, then maybe she could forget this horrible night.

She looked toward the shadowed corner again and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Mr. Archer. I'm very s-sorry I came up here tonight. I promise not to bother you again. Good night, sir." She turned to go, her relief discernible, vowing to stay well away from this place in the future.

"Wait."

She stopped and turned back to that beautiful, but oh-so-cold voice. She watched in shock as the yellow gleam of his eyes came forward from the dark corner, and slowly revealed a man who appeared to be made from shades of black, bringing those terrifying moments earlier in the evening back to her...Gabe running down the drive, and the approach of this man, who had leaned down and frightened her so badly with his glowing moonbeam eyes and no face.

She would never forget her first look at _him,_ as she tried very hard not to turn and flee. His hair was midnight black, neatly brushed straight back. Everything on him was large...but not in flesh. Of that he had very little as far as she could tell. His height and the length of his limbs, gave her the impression of a large man, but he seemed to be quite painfully thin. His ears were nicely made, set close to his head above a pallid neck, but other than that, there wasn't much of his skin showing...the paleness of a bony chin and his lips, which were just a slash across his mouth was all that she could see. His hands were just as startling to her, with abnormally long fingers, skeletal and white, almost glowing in the candlelight.

But what caused the most unease, and the shock when he'd approached her earlier in the evening, was a black silk mask over most of his face. It had seemed to her as she looked up at him from the base of the tree, that he was a creature made of darkness...a faceless being. All this she saw in under ten seconds and her fear of him continued to grow, for he was still moving toward her.

"Please..." was all she said...was all she _could_ say.

He stopped and tilted his head at her. "Of course." he said slowly. "You have no wish for me to come so very close, do you? Might I ask...why _are_ you here, then? _I_ didn't invite you."

She found her voice and firmed her small chin, a chin that revealed her innate stubborness better than anything else. "No, you didn't invite me. You _carried_ me here after I so foolishly tried to stop that boy from breaking your window and instead, nearly had my head b-broken."

"Bravo, dear. Very assertive of you. _That_ put me in my place, did it not?"

Christine started to leave again, frightened of this bizarre man and wanting only to put distance between them.

"I _said_...wait."

His clipped tone of command stopped her, but she didn't turn around. He came closer to her, but stood well enough away. "You...have a promising voice. Immature, yes, but that's to be expected, given your youth. A little breathless on the higher notes _and_ your pronunciation is deplorable. You need quite a bit of work, but overall...very promising."

A warmer note crept into his voice, thawing it a little. "I would have liked to hear you sing Desdemona."

She turned around at that and faced him. "What? Then...why did you stop?"

He laughed softly, but there was no real humor in it. Christine didn't think laughter had ever come easy to this shadow man. "Let's just say...I was advised to quit and leave it at that."

She said nothing...only wishing to be gone from this place. "I really must be on my way. My aunt will w-worry. Good night, Mr. Archer."

He put up a pale hand. "You keep calling me that. Why?"

"Nadir told us who you are. I'm sorry if I'm being forward...we haven't b-been properly introduced, have we? But the circumstances are strange, so I thought..."

She stopped babbling and sneaked another peek at him. He was eying her guardedly, hands behind his back. His black swallowtail suit was well cut wool, the waistcoat a deep maroon with silver embroidery. A beaten silver stick pin adorned a black cravat...the only brightness in his attire, were the bits of snowy white shirt she could see. He was exquisitely dressed, but with his masked face and feral eyes, which were now fastened on hers, he would never look at home in anyone's drawing room.

"The Persian told you my _name, _did he?" He seemed amused. "Well then. May I have _yours_?"

It felt odd to her...this stilted conversation, but remembering her manners, she answered him. "Christine Daae, sir," and she gave him a wobbly curtsy.

He made no move to take her hand, but instead gave her a stiff and formal bow. "_Miss_ Daae. I'm most pleased to make your aquaintance." And before she could say anything, he swept one hand toward the piano. "May I play for you? Something classical perhaps?"

That got her interest like nothing else could. She had so wanted to hear him play again; her fear was put aside momentarily, just for the chance to hear his music once more. He walked over to a delicate looking chair and placed it nearby, then indicated she should sit, and with one eye on him and the other on the open door, she did so. He was no longer hostile, which made her wonder why, but soon she ceased to worry about anything and simply enjoyed the music.

He went and sat at the grand, moving his coattails out of the way with a graceful flourish, then proceeded to stretch and crack his long fingers. He launched into Beethoven, and she was caught up in the sights and sounds of a genius bending the notes to his will. His fingers literally flew across the keys, and they looked elegant and perfectly at home on the keyboard...to a mesmerized Christine, it was a function for which they'd been made. He was quite the showman...she enjoyed watching him as his fingers pounded the keys, and she couldn't help but smile. He reached the end of the piece with a dramatic display, then turned around on the bench and faced her.

She had forgotten her fright for a few precious minutes as she listened, almost in a trance, her mouth indecorously hanging open at the beauty of the melody and his obvious skill. His strange eyes watching her closely, brought it rushing back and she looked at him cautiously.

"You're better than anyone I know. That was lovely...thank you." She paused and glanced at him shyly. "I've missed hearing you." He really was the best she'd ever heard, but she couldn't help thinking of how he'd toyed with her only minutes ago; she stood up nervously, and started edging toward the door again.

"Thank you so much, but...well I uh...I really must go now." She spoke in a rush, but his next words stopped her in her tracks.

"We could do this again, Miss Daae. Perhaps you could sing as before, but _here_ instead of separate houses? Your projection is very good, but it leaves a little to be desired...window to window, as it were."

Christine thought he actually smiled when he said this, but she couldn't be certain, for a smile required the lifting of the lips upwards, and his had simply twitched.

He hesitated a moment. "I know a little about the voice. Perhaps you might be interested?"

Just as she was about to respond, they heard someone coming up the stairs. An exasperated Nadir entered the room and looked from her to Mr. Archer closely, then he approached Christine, short of breath and a little put out. She was very relieved to see him.

"Christine. What are you doing up here?" he said sternly. He glanced at Mr. Archer again, then back to her.

Christine stood up, wincing as she did so. She had some bruising on her body from falling against the tree. Sitting down for a while might be difficult, she thought wryly. "I'm sorry, Nadir. I came to...thank Mr. Archer for his care of me tonight. He...he was kind enough to play the piano. I was just leaving."

The Persian felt only surprise at this; it was highly unusual for _him_ to play for anyone, let alone someone who had invaded his tower room. Mrs. Cole had rearranged his music on the piano while dusting, and he had been in a rage over it, nearly causing that good woman to walk out. Nadir had put his conciliatory skills to work _that_ day.

Mr. Archer had stood up as well, putting his hands behind his back once again. "Yes, daroga...she came to thank me." The look he gave Nadir was unreadable to Christine, but not to the Persian.

He cleared his throat and looked at his feet. "Yes...well. Let me take you home, Christine. It's getting late."

Mr. Archer's voice stopped her again. "Consider what I said, Miss Daae. You _do_ have promise."

She merely nodded and left him standing near the grand. Just before they reached the landing, she heard the piano once again.

"Nadir? I'm really sorry...it wasn't good of me to go off on my own like I did, or bother Mr. Archer." She paused, thinking how strange that meeting was, then remembered something. "I asked you about the yellow eyes I saw, and you told me it was all in my head. Why?"

He sighed and shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered. I never thought the two of you would ever meet." Before she could question him further, he spoke again. "Are you all right? He can be quite intimidating."

She felt a shiver go up her spine. "Yes. He can be."

He stopped walking and looked at her closely. "What did he do? Tell me."

Christine shrugged. "Nothing really. He...he tried to frighten me away, I think. But he must have changed his mind...he played the loveliest music for me."

Nadir preceded her down the stairs and paused by the square newel post, which had perched atop it, an elaborate bronze lamp in the shape of Atlas holding the world. The light from it cast a soft glow over the large entrance hall floor, set in a harlequin pattern of black and white Italian marble.

"Frighten you? How?" he said, frowning.

She pushed her hair away from her face, feeling tired and grubby all of a sudden. "I don't know, but it felt like he was _trying_ to scare me. Different objects spoke to me...it was almost real, the way he did that."

He led her back to the drawing room and poured her another cup of tea. She sat on a plush green chair and he handed her the cup.

"Drink this, Christine." He sat opposite her and watched as she took a sip. "How are you feeling?"

She set her cup down and touched the back of her head carefully. "I _do_ feel better, but it's still sore." She shrugged. "Probably will be for a while."

She turned her hands over, noticing for the first time how dirty they were, and shoved them down in the folds of her coat. She really needed to go home soon. "Why did Mr. Archer try to scare me?"

"You were right the first time. He _did_ want to frighten you away. He doesn't like anyone in his tower room, and to be fair to him, you did wander in there on your own accord." He smiled to take the sting out of what he'd said. "He is a very good ventriloquist...he's actually quite talented in other areas as well, aside from the piano. But Christine..."

He looked at her guardedly. "Mr. Archer is, as I told you before, a man who keeps to himself. He's very busy with different projects, so...well, perhaps you should leave him alone. But...if you don't mind my asking...what does he want you to think about?"

She wasn't sure if he knew of the connection they'd already established, so she told him.

"Yes, I did know about that," he said reluctantly, "but what does he want from _you_?"

She drank more of her tea. She swallowed, cringing from the pain of her cut tongue, then she looked at Nadir. "He wants to help me with my singing."

She had surprised him with that, and he studied her pale and drawn face. "Christine...are you afraid of him?"

She put her cup down with a hand that shook a little. "Yes." Standing up, she looked at him with some confusion. "But when he plays, it's different..._he's_ different. I hear only the music."

She moved closer to Nadir. "What happened to him? Why does he hide his face?" she asked softly.

The Persian said nothing for a moment, then sighed. "That's not for me to say. I only ask you to bear in mind, that Mr. Archer is a very complex and private man. He is also...well, let me just say, he's not used to people all that much. Perhaps it would be best to leave him be."

She nodded, mostly agreeing with him. "It's been a strange evening, but thank you, Nadir for your kindness. And the tea. I need to find Meg. She's probably wondering what happened to me by now."

The Persian put his hand on her shoulder. "A good rest is what you need, young lady. If Er...Mr. Archer never thanked you for your help this evening...allow _me."_

He looked at her and smiled gently. "Thank you, Christine." He took her by the arm, and together they walked the short distance to her house.

They had no sooner arrived next door, when Meg came walking hurriedly toward her from the front of the house. "Where have you _been_? Raoul and I looked everywhere for you, Christine!"

She said goodnight to Nadir and went inside with Meg.

"What happened to you? Where were you?"

Christine put her finger to her lips and said quietly, "I'll tell you in a little while, but first I want to wash some of this dirt off me."

But Meg was wound up from her evening and she had to listen to her chatter on excitedly. At least she lowered her voice just in case anyone was nearby. "We soaped some windows and met up on the corner like we said we'd do, but you never showed up. We looked _everywhere_ for you...then, guess what?"

Meg was just warming up and Christine wanted only to get to bed and lay her head on the cool pillow and sleep. She could hear Hannah and her aunt in the parlor talking.

"What?"

"We saw Gabe running down the street. Raoul tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't stop...he looked like the very devil was chasing after him! Raoul finally had to get home, but he said he'd be by tomorrow to check on you."

Christine went into the parlor to say goodnight to her aunt. Hannah looked at her sharply, but said nothing, and Christine climbed the stairs to her room and got ready for bed. Once she was washed and in her nightgown, she went down the hall to the Girys' room and tapped on the door. Meg opened it and invited her in.

"Are you all right? You look a little pale."

Christine nodded wearily, and went over and settled on Meg's bed, telling her what had happened that evening, but she omitted how Mr. Archer had cruelly teased her in the tower room. Why she wasn't telling the full story...well, she would think on that later.

"I didn't like the way that boy was acting at all tonight; if Mama would have heard his language tonight, she would have used some of those soap pieces to wash out his foul mouth, wouldn't she? And the way he tried to fight Raoul...you're lucky he didn't hurt you worse than he did. I just wish we could have been with you. And Mr. Archer, Christine. Weren't you frightened of him? How very strange it must have been."

Christine smiled tiredly at her friend. "Hannah would have done more than just use soap on his mouth...she would have taken the rug beater to his behind!"

The two girls traded stories, but what started to come through to Christine was how many times Meg mentioned Raoul's name, and she felt a twinge of jealousy. "It sounds like the two of you got on very well tonight, Meg." she said lightly. "Maybe it _was_ a good thing I disappeared for a while."

Meg looked at her friend in suspicion, sensing Christine's change in mood. Laughing, she said, "I guess he had to settle for _me_, since you weren't there...he was upset when you didn't show up, so I'm sure he'll be by tomorrow to see for himself that you're all right."

Christine searched her face, wondering if Meg liked Raoul de Chagny just a little too well, but her friend had already schooled her features into friendly interest...Christine mollified, described to Meg the interior of the Archer house. The younger girl was suitably impressed, but the talk went back to the masked man. "Do you think you'll let him give you lessons someday? I would be too frightened to be in the same room with him!"

Christine shrugged her slim shoulders. "I'm not sure. He scares me too. But, oh Meg...such talent he has!"

They talked late into the evening, until Christine pleaded a headache, which was true enough. Saying goodnight, she headed for her room. She wandered over to the window after brushing her hair, and gazed at the tower window, thinking about the strange man who lived there. She was repelled by the mask, but curious about what it hid. Nadir was always reluctant to say very much about his employer, and when he did, it was to warn her to stay away from him. She sighed, understanding his reasoning a little better now.

There was a light tapping on the door and Meg stuck her head in. "Christine? You didn't forget, did you? I've got the apples right here."

She turned from the window and caught the apple Meg lobbed at her. "Whatever you do, Meggie...don't throw that knife." she said, nodding at the two small paring knives the girl held.

Meg laughed, and walking over, handed one to her friend. "It's nearly midnight, so start peeling, and don't forget to keep it as long as you can."

Christine began paring her apple, going slowly to keep the skin one continuous piece, the tart scent of the apple in her nostrils.

She looked over at Meg, sitting at the vanity table, when the younger girl said in disgust, "Drat...my peel tore! How's yours?"

Christine held hers up in triumph. "Now what? Do we stand in front of the mirror?"

Meg motioned to the older girl. "Hurry! It's midnight!"

She stood beside Meg, and looking in the mirror together, they tossed their apple skins over their shoulders, giggling as they did; two young girls on the cusp of womanhood and eager for life and all its wonderful possibilities. They both heard the grandfather clock downstairs in the hall chiming midnight.

Meg ran over to her peel, and bending over, studied it. "Hmm...it looks like an R to me. What do you think?"

Christine had been studying hers, but stopped to look at Meg's. She shook her head. "Oh, I don't know...it kind of looks like a P, not an R."

Meg grinned. "That would be nice for you, wouldn't it? If that P stood for Phantom, you'd be over the moon!"

Christine snorted. "As if _that_ would ever happen."

She went back to study hers and Meg joined her. "Yours is an E, Christine. Do we know anyone who's name begins with an E?"

Christine shook her head. "No. But I don't think it's an E. It looks more like a W. Look closer." she said, pointing a finger at the peel.

Meg put a hand over her mouth. "W? It's Wendell. Wendell Drake...which means...Becky is going to be your sister-in-law someday! Poor Christine! She'll probably live with you and all the little Drakes." She snorted helplessly at the image which popped into her head. "Imagine yourself crawling into bed _every_ night with the likes of Wendell. Oh, Christine!" she lamented and shook her head with false sadness.

Christine scrunched up her nose as if she smelled something bad, then looked at the peel one last time. "No...it's an E, Meg. You were right the first time. I'm sure of it now."

Meg shook her head. "No. It's too late. You already said it's a W, so you're stuck with Wendell and Becky."

She danced gracefully around the room, making obscene kissing noises, and saying Wendell's name over and over in a high breathless voice, until an irritated Christine threw a pillow at her. With a flutter of her hand, Meg danced out into the hall and Christine slammed the door on her.

She slipped into bed...her head was a little better, and she was relieved that the persistent ache had eased a bit. She thought of Mr. Archer again, and wondered about singing lessons and if they were at all possible with such a man. Nadir certainly didn't think so. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted to go over there again, but she didn't doubt Mr. Archer's ability to teach her. If she knew anything about him, it was the fact that he was very knowledgeable about music. She would have to give it more thought, but not tonight.

Tired, she quickly slipped into a dreamless sleep.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Across town, at half past midnight, Gabe Rafferty sat in the large oak tree outside the Silver Dollar Saloon. His gaze was riveted on the room above the bar, which was on a level with the limb he was perched on. He'd been spending evenings in the tree for a month or better, having discovered the proximity of the room to the tree quite by accident, avidly watching Ellie Sanders plying her customers with whisky, then peddling her luscious flesh. One of these days, he'd have a few coins to give her, and _he'd_ be the one on that bed having a good time. He licked dry lips as the whore unbuttoned and pushed down the pants of her latest customer, a brawny dock worker by the look of him. The man eagerly forced her backward to the bed, where they tumbled down together. Gabe became aroused quickly, and touching himself, watched the pair on the bed, their exertions making the old brass bed squeak and moan nearly as loud as Ellie's customer.

His breathing became heavy as he felt his own release coming like a damned freight train, but what pushed him over the edge, was the image of the little Daae bitch. What he wouldn't give for some of that to bury himself in...yes, he'd make her scream, he would. He thought of her small breasts as he reached his climax, his eyes still clamped on the rutting couple. The man finished, and rolling off of Ellie, he stood up and immediately started haggling over the price, and Gabe had to stifle a laugh. At least he'd waited until he shot his wad before trying to get a discount from her. On shaky legs, he climbed back down the tree and started home. He didn't live anywhere near that asshole de Chagny. Oh no, he lived in a dump of a shack off Felix St., just close enough to smell that stinkin' river...at times it seemed to permeate his clothes with the smell of rotted fish. His old man was the town drunk...sweeping out the saloons and bouncing some of the rowdier customers was about all he could manage to do...half the time the old sot never even came home.

He stopped abruptly, a sound coming from behind him as he'd turned down the alley close to where he lived. _Probably a cat, or maybe a rat...a few of those __bung holes__ around. "_Aw hell...home sweet stinkin' home!" he said bitterly. He heard something that was very close to a chuckle, and the hairs on his neck stood up from the queerness of it. He began to feel uneasy, but in typical fashion, he blustered right through it.

"W-Who's there? Show yourself now, or by God, it's goin' to be a painful night for you!"

Silence, but for the scrape of a shoe and the rustling of fabric, caused him a stutter of fear. Rafferty jumped as if he'd been goosed when he heard a voice filled with cold malice. "Pain you say? What? Like _this_, my good fellow?" and a dark shape was suddenly in front of him, and had backhanded him to the ground. He yelled as his eye and cheek flared in agony, but he forgot the pain, as he numbly looked up at a living, breathing nightmare with fire in its eyes.

Rafferty had enough sense left to realize that the man in front of him, would have no compunctions killing him, and he quickly forgot how tough he was, saying in a shaky voice, "I-I don't know w-what you want, but I didn't do nothin', so leave me be!"

The dark figure laughed, the chilling sound of it making the boy whimper. His eye was rapidly swelling shut and he peered at the entity above him through the other one, which had filled with tears. "Please! L-Leave me be, I said!"

The man cocked his head, considering Gabe's request. "Of course I will, but first, allow me to help you up. You've fallen down young man, and _that_ will never do."

Gabe tried to push back from the gloved hand extended down to him, but failed. The creature latched on to him and with a horrifying strength, lifted him to his feet and at the same time, exerted a terrible and agonizing pressure to his hand. He screamed shrilly as the white hot pain became his entire world, and the bones of his fingers popped and snapped with a sound of small sticks breaking. He fought to get loose, but he was held fast in an iron grip.

He started to cry then, forgetting everything but the agony in his hand.

"Oops. I'm _terribly_ sorry about that." The man shook his head regretfully. "What a shame! And I noticed that is your dominant hand. My, my. Won't be throwing things for a while, will you?" He abruptly let Rafferty go, and the boy promptly fell down and started to retch helplessly.

The man bent over and whispered softly, his voice beguiling and mock friendly. "Ah, I see you would rather sit for a while. That's fine, but _I_ must be on my way. Good night to you, young sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening, won't you?"

With that, he melted into the shadows and was gone as quickly as he'd first appeared and just as silently. Gabe continued to sob in pain and fright, curling himself into a fetal position, and shaking uncontrollably, the tears and snot running unchecked from his eyes and nose, making his face sticky. Which is how the deputy making his rounds that morning found him.


	7. Chapter 7

Samuel Sorelli approached the old theatre now crawling with workmen. He had an appointment this afternoon with Mr. Arthur Debienne, a lawyer from St. Louis, overseeing much of the hiring for the opera house, and he was hopeful that he could get his old position back. He walked through the Grand Foyer impressed at the transformation in the few months since the renovation had begun. The marble floor was the focus of much of the work; the very center of it had been torn up in a roughly 25 square foot area. Statuary were abundant, but for now remained covered with heavy tarping.

He mounted the wide marble steps to the second floor and made sure to dodge the workmen scurrying here and there. The work in the Grand Hallway was mainly finished...most of the frenetic activity was taking place in the theatre's massive foyer. The hallway leading to the theatre had numerous bronze busts of the great composers lining the walls up to the auditorium itself...a wide red runner covered much of the floor, and black-edged gold fleur de lis adorned the walls. Opposite the entrance to the theatre stood a bronze statue of Diana, the Huntress. Samuel thought her an odd choice for an opera house, but she was quite beautiful in her short tunic and dainty boots, her long hair seeming to float around her upper body. Her face was all strength and youthful beauty, as she stood there with her drawn bow, a tall hound by her side.

Sorelli admired the auditorium with the thick red velvet stage curtains, plush red seating and antique gold damask walls. No expense had been spared by the looks of it, and the end result would be lush and elegant. His gaze went upward to the immense chandelier overhead...a majestic crystal and gold work of art, blazing with brilliant light; he reckoned it probably weighed close to four tons. It was one of the finest he'd ever seen. He looked around, seeing the controlled chaos of it all, as the labor crept forward to an actual finish, the new theatre emerging from the ashes like the rise of the mythological phoenix. He turned as someone cleared his throat behind him. A dapper middle aged man with gray hair and a van Dyke beard was standing before him.

"Mr. Sorelli? Permit me...I'm Arthur Debienne." The two men shook hands, and Debienne gestured to the theatre at large. "Quite different from the last time you were in here, I'll warrant."

Sorelli agreed and fell in beside the lawyer as they walked to the manager's office around the corner. "I have been authorized to speak with you about this position, but the owner wishes to meet with you also."

Debienne looked sideways at Samuel. "A word of warning, if I may; the owner of this theatre is...how shall I put this? He is eccentric, to say the least, and does not want his name mentioned outside these walls. Also...what is said in that room goes no further than you and me. I have looked at your credentials, and for myself, I think you may be our man, but the outcome of today will rest solely with Erik."

"Erik? The owner, is he?"

The lawyer nodded as he opened the door into the office, and motioned Sorelli to a chair in front of the manager's desk. The room was much as he remembered it; the fire hadn't touched this section of the building, but the lights were dim and the shadows were thick.

"Please wait here, Mr. Sorelli."

Samuel folded his hands in his lap and prepared to do just that.

"Mr. Sorelli. Good afternoon."

The voice startled him, for it came from the back corner of the room, which meant the man was already present when they walked in, and had not immediately made himself known. He turned and observed the man standing there, surprised at what was before him. He was very tall and thin, dressed in a black morning suit and wearing a dark felt hat pulled low on his forehead, making the man's face hard to see.

Sorelli stood and began to approach him. The man held up a long fingered hand. "Please. Be so good as to turn your chair around and face me, then sit down. We have much to discuss, and I'm sure your time is precious to you."

Sorelli did as he was instructed, slightly put off, and surreptitiously observed his would-be employer. He was well dressed and seemed very relaxed in his presence, but Samuel felt intuitively, that the man was watching him very carefully and sizing him up as he did so.

"I'm aware of your management of this theatre before the fire, and I must say it's impressive that you were able to administer it as well as you did, seeing as how the previous owner was marvelously inadequate. It was a shoestring budget you subsisted on, was it not?"

"Mr. Tuttle didn't have a lot of funds to work with, Mr...uh..."

"Erik, Mr. Sorelli." the man said in his melodious voice.

"Yes. Well...the previous owner inherited the opera house, E-Erik, and it was never his first priority, but the will of his father stipulated certain funds _only_, for the running of this place. To be fair, he was probably in over his head...he was quite young to be over-seeing this establishment. We all tried our best, I'm sure."

Erik said nothing at first, merely observing the former manager, until Samuel started to feel a little anxious. He caught small glimpses of the owner's face, and there was something not quite right about it. The nose seemed odd.

"Come, come, Mr. Sorelli. You're much too modest! And loyal, I might add, toward a man who doesn't deserve it in the least. Isn't it true, that Mr. Tuttle pocketed most of the money taken in by the house, and left _you_ with very little to function on?"

Samuel opened his mouth to reply, but Erik stopped him. "No need to answer, sir. I have but one question to put to you, and it requires your complete honesty."

He waited for Sorelli's nod of agreement. "If you were to be my manager, and we had a...disagreement over the operation of this theatre, and you were adamant that you were right, and I...was wrong, would you fight for your position on the matter?"

Samuel knew his answer would decide the outcome today...he carefully phrased his reply to this odd man. He took a deep breath and said with conviction, "I understand completely that the last word on any matter would be yours, sir. But, yes...I wouldn't be a very good manager if I didn't argue for what's best for this opera house." He chuckled. "And quite possibly until I was blue in the face."

Erik raised his head finally, and Samuel was taken aback at the gleam of yellow eyes. The man's face was dreadfully pale and ugly, the long thin nose, sitting above a sparse black mustache...his appearance had the look of transparency seen in those who had been deathly ill for some time. It was unsettling.

"Mr. Sorelli. We still have much to discuss. But now it will be where to acquire a music director, not to mention, an orchestra for him to...conduct. I would like to be well on the way to our first production by spring. What do you say to that?"

Samuel felt an upsurge of gratification and relief. He moved to stand and shake his employer's hand, but once again Erik stopped him. "I think we will have a very satisfactory relationship, Mr. Sorelli. However...I need to make one thing very clear to you."

Erik paused and the look he gave Samuel was absolutely chilling, his eyes frightening in their intensity. "I expect loyalty and dedication from you, Mr. Sorelli. Don't ever forget who you work for, and _never_ go behind my back. You will regret it, I assure you. Except for matters dealing with this theatre, everything else is to go no further. Erik's business belongs to...Erik. I trust you will remember that?"

It was spoken quietly, but Sorelli felt a frisson of fear crawl up his spine. _What was he getting himself into_? But _he_ was speaking again, and Samuel would do well to listen.

"Rest assured, you shall be rewarded for your hard work. Now then, we have quite a few matters to iron out yet such as your salary, among others, so why not get started if you have the time, no?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "You may trust in my discretion, Erik. You won't regret hiring me for this positon. And please...call me by my given name...Samuel, or Sam if you prefer." he said, trying to overcome his disquiet.

His new employer nodded. "Samuel it is. Now...shall we begin?" As Erik said this, Mr. Debienne walked into the office with another man, and Samuel recognized Mr. Khan. The two men shook hands and Erik spoke up again.

"You're probably aware of my residence by now, Samuel. Need I say, that that information is to go no further also? Nadir Khan will more likely than not, attend to matters in my stead. I am often indisposed, but I trust him implicitly."

Nadir walked over to a cabinet across the room, and produced a bottle of scotch and four glasses. Glenlivet, thought Sorelli...only the best it would seem for Erik. Pouring each of them a drink, the men got down to the details, Erik still preferring his dark corner. Which was fine with Samuel. Soon he was caught up in the discussion of Anthony Reyer and his merits as music director. It was business as usual at the St. Joseph Opera House.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

She clutched her coat a little tighter to her chest, the late November air chilly. It wasn't quite cold enough to snow, but all the same, it wouldn't be long before it was. Christine clutched the package of embroidery thread her aunt had sent her to town for...in her other hand was the latest Gazette, with hopefully another chapter of Phantom Trails. It was nearly dark and she hadn't even made it to Broad Street yet. The trees arched over the road, making it darker still.

The thread was to finish Christine's new dress, and her aunt and Hannah hoped to have it ready by Sunday, which was her birthday. They were having a dinner for her and she had been permitted to invite Raoul. She was feeling quite grown up all of a sudden, her actions on the last day of October, had been those of a child and not a woman. Raoul had come by the day after All Hallows as Meg said he would, and they'd sat in the parlor a little self-consciously. He'd given her some disturbing news, even before she'd explained her disappearance the night before.

"Rafferty got mauled late last night on the other side of town, Christine. He's got a broken hand and a black eye... said he was attacked by a demon in an alley not far from where he lives." He grinned. "I thought he was acting funnier than usual last night...he's gone loco. Demon...ha!"

Christine didn't laugh...she _knew_ there was such a thing. A yellow eyed one, anyway. "D-Did he get a good look at who attacked him?"

He laughed at that. "He probably tripped over his own feet and fell down! But he said it was tall and black with fiery eyes, and hands that gripped like iron." He shook his head. "He never said what he was doing out that late...it was after midnight, but he was up to no good, Christine...I'm sure of it."

And she had given him an abbreviated story of what happened to her the night before. Raoul was angry when she told him about Rafferty. "If I see him anytime soon, I'll break his other hand for what he did to you!"

She shook her head at that. "I think someone already took care of him." she said in a whisper.

"What?"

"N-Nothing." she'd replied to him, saying no more about it.

She walked along the darkening road, not quite sure why she kept most of the details about her meeting with Mr. Archer to a minimum...it wasn't loyalty. She barely knew him and didn't like him at all. It was more a sense of something dangerous in the man, and she didn't think it was his appearance alone that led her to believe that. It was his stillness when watching her that night...a predator will do that. Watch and wait patiently for the right moment to strike, then lash out at the opportune moment...no fuss or bother, just deadly intent. But he had toyed with her. She'd watched Tidbit corner a mouse once in the carriage house. It wasn't just a meal for the little cat...it was her plaything, and she had stared with green unblinking eyes at the poor frightened mouse having all the patience in the world, then with no warning pounced, batting it around playfully, then once tired of the game she'd gone in for the kill. She thought of Mr. Archer in much the same way, only _she_ was the poor quivering mouse. She shivered at her own nonsense. _Careful Christine Nielsson_..._you'll be frightening yourself all over again._

She heard the sounds of a horse behind her and made sure she was out of the way. As it came near, she turned. Looking up at the rider coming on at a trot, she was startled once again when she caught the glow of yellow eyes. The irrelevant thought crossed her mind that he could light his own way anywhere he went. She felt like squeaking...it was too close to her very recent imaginings. But why _this _man and why now? She almost kept quiet, but thinking that cowardly, she spoke up with only a slight tremor in her voice.

"Mr. Archer. Good evening, sir."

He reined in, bringing his horse to a stop beside her and touched his hat. "Why, Miss Daae...how are you?"

"Fine. On my way home from town. An errand for my aunt."

He dismounted, and holding the reins loosely, walked beside her. "Rather late to be out and about, don't you think?"

Christine thought it was really none of his business, but said lightly. "Not at all. I often do errands for my aunt, and for Hannah too. It's quite safe."

She looked up at him, aware once again of how very tall he was...she didn't quite make it to his shoulder. He still made her nervous, but she was convinced that he enjoyed making her feel that way. Unbidden, she thought of what had happened to Gabe Rafferty. She searched for something to say.

"Your mare is a beauty, sir. What's her name?"

"Moriah."

They had turned onto Broad St. and passed beneath one of the many gas lights along the road, which were well tended by the lamplighters. It was their sole job to see to the lighting of them every evening at dusk and extinguish them at daybreak.

She glanced up at the man beside her once more, only this time in surprise; under the streetlight she noticed that his face was in view, instead of covered with the black mask. It was hard to make out details because of his hat, but his face appeared strangely pale.

"M-Moriah...that's a pretty name. I've never heard it before."

He looked at her and she was struck by how very irregular his features were...it was not a pleasing face by any stretch of the imagination.

"It's French and means dark skinned."

"You speak French?"

"I do. And now I have a question for _you_."

He stopped, and the mare trailing him as a pet dog might, halted at his shoulder. "Have you given any thought to my proposal?"

Christine felt a little trapped with his eyes steadfastly trained on hers waiting for an answer. She cleared her throat, pulled her coat closer, and started walking again, stalling for time. "I uh...I would like for you t-to teach me, Mr. Archer, really I would. Perhaps you could come to my house for the lessons. I'm sure my aunt wouldn't mind. We have a very nice piano for you to use."

"Out of the question."

"Th-Then I'm afraid I must decline, sir. My aunt would not consent to my coming to your house, I'm quite sure. I-It wouldn't be proper."

She cut her eyes up at him, looking for a reaction, and thought she saw the flash of teeth.

"But...if your aunt was to agree to it. What would your answer be _then_, Miss Daae?" he said quietly. "Or are you such a child, that you're much too frightened to be alone in the same room with me again?"

Christine was sure it was a dare, for how _would _he get permission from her aunt? But she huffed, indignant at his poor opinion of her...even if it was true. "I'm _not_ a child. I'll be sixteen on Sunday! And if you can get permission from my aunt for lessons, well then...I'll...I will be there!"

They had stopped walking for they were in front of her house. She became even more agitated when she heard the outright amusement in his voice. "Very well then, Miss Daae. I bow to your great age, but prepare yourself for your first lesson, for I can be _quite _persuasive. Have a pleasant evening."

She stood there, thoroughly annoyed with him, as he stepped into the stirrup and mounted in one fluid motion, his black cloak fanning out as he did so, and tipping his hat, he rode off up the street. She briefly wondered where he was going, then forgot about it...none of her business where the man went. But it didn't occur to her until much later...she'd felt no fear of him...only annoyance at his arrogant attitude toward her. Well...not _much _fear anyway.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Would you care for more chicken, young man? It's quite good. Hannah, you've outdone yourself with this dinner. Christine...pass Raoul the potatoes. His plate is empty."

"Yes, Aunt." Christine handed him the potatoes as ordered, and he looked at her, a little daunted by Aunt Edna. She insisted he have another serving and he would, although he felt like he was about to burst...he glanced up from his plate and met the hawk-like stare of Christine's aunt, over the rim of her spectacles.

Christine admired the flowers Raoul had brought her, now arranged in a vase on the sideboard. They were purple and white mums...probably the last from his mother's garden, but she was touched all the same. Her birthday had been a fine one so far; her aunt had given her a bottle of French perfume, her very first. Hannah and Meg had given her a pretty set of white linen handkerchiefs, edged in pink lace, with her initials embroidered on them. Even Nadir had given her something, which had surprised her...a collection of arias from some of the most popular operas ever performed. She had thanked him and promised to take him a piece of her birthday cake later.

Once dinner was over, Hannah brought in the three layer chocolate cake and served everyone dessert and coffee. Afterwards, they all went into the parlor and Christine sang two of the arias she'd just received, accompanied by Aunt Edna on the piano. Raoul could only sit there and watch as Christine sang, looking pretty in her lilac dress, hoping they could talk together alone before he left. Meg sat beside him on the sofa, hoping to get his attention...she looked at him from the corner of her eye and sighed. Why not her? All Hallow's Eve, he'd liked her well enough when her friend had gone missing. She sat beside the handsome golden haired boy, brimming over with adoration for him, jealousy of Christine, and overall, the miserable certainty that he would never be hers.

Hannah watched as her daughter tried to flirt with the de Chagny boy and was rebuffed. Meg had always been in Christine's shadow, no matter what they were doing; it would be no different with the young men. She loved Christine almost as much as her own child...she was a gentle, beautiful girl and had no meanness in her, but just once she wanted _her _daughter to shine. Maybe she'd get into town one of these days and get some nice dress goods and make her a new outfit. Something in red, that would complement her dark eyes and curls.

Finally, everyone was gone from the room, leaving Christine and Raoul alone for a few minutes.

"I didn't know you could sing like that. You were real good, Christine!"

"Thank you." she said shyly. "I have a lot to learn though...that's why I'm going to the conservatory in St. Louis next year once I'm seventeen. I'll be studying music for two years."

She was sitting on the piano bench and he sat down beside her. "Well...I'm also going away next year to St. Louie...to college. I would have had one year in already, but my father didn't want both Philippe and me gone at the same time...my brother graduates next June and I'll be starting next fall."

He glanced at her with hope in his eyes. "Maybe...maybe we can get together once in a while.

"If you'd care to, that is." he added anxiously.

The idea was appealing, and she had to admit...it would be nice to know someone in St. Louis. They could go for walks or maybe have a picnic...just the two of them.

"I would like that." She looked down and watched as his hand slowly reached over and took one of hers in a gentle grip. She looked up at him as he leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on one cheek.

"Happy Birthday, Christine." he whispered.

She saw him out and went through to the kitchen almost floating on air. She put her fingers to her cheek...her first kiss from a boy. She smiled as she cut a large piece of cake for Nadir, and was almost out the door, when she stopped and went back to the cake and cut a second large piece, adding it to the first. Even Mr. Archer would probably like some of Hannah's cake. She tapped on the kitchen door at the Archer's and Mrs. Cole answered.

She hadn't met the housekeeper yet, but Hannah had spoken with her a few times, and the woman's lack of gossip concerning her employer was disappointing. She was, if anything, loyal to Mr. Archer and refused to talk about him to anyone, much to their dismay.

"Come in, young lady. I'll go get Mr. Khan. He's in the library at the moment. Birthday cake...how nice!"

Mrs. Cole was a plump ball of fire, leading Christine into the drawing room and to a chair, then bustling off to get Nadir. She was back in a few minutes, arms folded across her apron.

"If you will, Miss Daae, please accompany me. Mr. Khan has asked if you would be so kind as to come to the library."

She followed the housekeeper there, going past the staircase she'd climbed not so very long ago, and to a door on the other side of the wide entrance hall. Nadir was seated at the large refectory table near the back of the room, looking at some papers. As she entered, he stood up and came toward her smiling.

"Christine. Welcome. Please, have a seat. I understand you brought cake. Thank you."

She noticed the portrait over the fireplace almost immediately. It was a woman gowned in wine red satin, her gleaming dark brown hair pulled back, allowing a few curls to lay over her bare shoulders. Christine thought the woman very beautiful, but her eyes appeared so sad...they were dark pools of sorrow, bringing to mind the lady in the niche.

She nodded at the painting. "That woman, Nadir. Who is she?"

He gestured her to a seat, then followed her gaze. "That child, is the former mistress of this house. Adelaide Archer. Lovely, wasn't she? The painting was there when I made my first inspection of the house, and it seemed a shame to remove it."

Christine nodded dumbly, hardly believing that _this_ was the poor woman hounded to death by her husband. She sat in a chair by the fireplace of delft blue tiles, and looked around. It was a masculine room, with walnut paneling and lots of leather, but overall it was warm and pleasing, a place she'd be comfortable in; all the shelves were filled with books. And there were many shelves...the room was lined with them. If she lived here, she would come in often and curl up on the upholstered window seat and read for hours.

The Persian sat down in the other chair and said, "Mrs. Cole is bringing tea in a moment." He paused as if searching for words. "I wanted you here because I, uh...need to ask you something."

He was anxious...she could tell. Christine thought _she _was the only one to feel that way in this house. He cleared his throat. "How much do you want voice lessons, Christine? Would you agree to Er...ahem...Mr. Archer teaching you? You weren't very happy here the first time, and he isn't the easiest of men. But...well, is it _your _wish also? Just tell me, child. If you don't want them, I'll take you home and no more will be said on the matter."

He spoke quietly and in a hurried manner, looking toward the library door often.

She didn't know what to say, but she was sure Mr. Archer had a lot to do with this conversation. "It isn't that I don't wish for them, but Nadir...my aunt would _never_ agree to them. I don't see why..."

"Oh, but she would, Miss Daae and...she just did." said Mr. Archer smoothly, as he came into the room.

He walked over to the fireplace and leaned against the mantle...as always, dressed in his impeccable black. He was still wearing his hat, which was pulled low over his eyes; what she could see of his pale features was limited, but the little she _could _make out presented an altogether disturbing appearance. They were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Cole with the tea tray. She left it on the table and departed quietly after a quick glance at her employer. Nadir poured the tea, while Mr. Archer waited with barely concealed impatience, watching him with a jaundiced eye. He waved the Persian away when approached with a cup.

"None for me, daroga." He turned to Christine. "Miss Daae. Are you agreeable to every evening at seven o'clock for our lessons? It will be for one hour, Monday through Friday and Nadir Khan will be present, and of course Mrs. Cole will be on the premises as well...so you needn't fear being alone with me."

She stirred her tea, not sure how he'd been able to get permission from her formidable aunt, but thinking Aunt Edna had been no match for him. He watched her with what seemed to be a look of triumph in his yellow eyes. She took a sip of the excellent tea, willing herself to stay calm. After all, she loved to sing and with Mr. Archer's musical abilities, she would learn a lot, which would aid her greatly when she went to the conservatory. Perhaps she could even audition for a spot at the opera house in the chorus someday. But she had a sinking feeling that learning from _him _wasn't going to be so very easy.

With hope and trepidation she said as evenly as she could. "I-I don't know how you accomplished it, sir...but yes, those arrangements sound just f-fine." She lifted her chin and met his glittering eyes as bravely as she could.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

She climbed the stairs to the tower room, already jumpy from what was to come. She had gone home after Mr. Archer told her about the lessons...she had still been in a state of disbelief that her aunt had given her permission for them...especially after meeting her would-be teacher. She had only just walked into the house last night, when her aunt asked her to come to the parlor. She looked paler than usual, and her hand wasn't quite steady on her tea cup, but she didn't look too upset, which was a good sign.

"Christine. I just had the strangest visit with the oddest man I've ever met. He was here only a little while ago, and would you believe? He wants to give you voice lessons and said you might be interested. I..."

Edna was still shaken from her encounter with him...his looming presence in her flowery and fussy parlor; his somber black clothing, although well cut and fashionable, only added to his air of menace. So why did she agree to let him teach her niece?

"Child...I declare, he gave me a fright, he did. He's quite homely, isn't he? And practically a scarecrow...he needs a few good meals under his belt.

"But that's neither here nor there, is it? I'm not exactly sure how he talked me into lessons for you...I don't know if he's even capable to teach, but he assures me you have a rare gift and he would hate to see it go to waste. He knows the owner of the opera house very well, and said he can eventually get you a part singing onstage. Think of it, dear! He was very adamant, and stated unequivocally, that with his help you could go far."

She looked at her niece with some confusion. "But I _can't_ understand how he knew you can sing so beautifully. Did Mr. Khan tell him, I wonder?

"And he wants no payment for the lessons. Why...it's almost too good to be true! But I really don't think he needs the money, do you?" Edna put her tea cup down, where it clattered in the saucer. "He has just one caveat, dear. No one outside this house is to know of his involvement in your lessons. Strange, to be sure, but this is what he asks of us."

Christine let out the breath she'd been holding. She was quite used to her aunt's monopolizing a conversation."Well...he is a recluse in a way; he hasn't made himself known to many people around here, so I think I understand his reasoning for that, but no fee? That _is _unusual, isn't it? He told you he could get me a part in an opera? I'm not sure I can believe that. But...he _is _a very good pianist...I've heard him through the window on occasion." she said with tongue firmly in her cheek. "I might be able to learn from him. Well...at least I hope so."

Aunt Edna frowned. "He came in here and introduced himself, bold as brass. He had seemed quite the gentleman too, but he wouldn't remove his hat, which I considered to be ill mannered of him." She looked distant and thoughtful all of a sudden.

"Although, Christine...he has the loveliest voice! Wait until you hear him speak! I wonder if _he _sings?" she said vaguely.

Christine hid a smile, knowing full well what he sounded like. By the look of it, he'd had an interesting affect on her prim and proper aunt.

"Mr. Khan will be present for the lessons and Mrs. Cole as well. It's really up to you, child. He was most confident that he could help you."

And now as she went to her first lesson, she certainly hoped that would be the case. She stopped on the stair landing and touched the serene lady in her niche. "Wish me luck...my lady. I'm going to need it." she whispered.

The tower room door was standing open when Christine arrived and she immediately tapped on it. She spied Mr. Archer seated at the piano, and turning, he curtly told her to enter. He stood up as she came into the room, and Nadir who'd been sitting in a chair near the window, got to his feet as well. After they'd exchanged greetings, Mr. Archer motioned for her to approach the grand.

"Now then, Miss Daae. We will work on some breathing exercises, followed by a look at your posture."

No time wasted and no introduction to the work they would be doing in their very first lesson. Right to it. He reminded her of her very first teacher in school. Miss Bennett. The other children claimed the woman had a steel rod going up her spine, she stood so erect and unbending, and expected her students to stand just as stiffly as she did. She had been a disciplinarian of the highest order. And she suspected Mr. Archer would be as well.

He was all brisk, cool business, and by the end of the hour, which had gone fairly fast, she didn't think she'd be singing anytime soon. Nadir had watched the proceedings for a while, then yawning, he'd wandered out of the room halfway through the lesson, intent on a cup of coffee. She was sitting in a straight back chair by then, learning to fill her diaphragm with air, her hands on her back muscles, feeling them expand and contract as she'd been instructed.

"Controlling your breathing is very important, Miss Daae. Knowing how to breathe properly, not only helps you sound better, but it improves your endurance in singing...in effect, helping you to better sustain a note."

"Y-Yes, Mr. Archer." she said as she concentrated on breathing, which was odd to her. She never would have guessed after all these years she'd been doing it wrong.

"For Heaven's sake! Do not call me that anymore! I am Erik, Miss Daae. Just...Erik." he said, exasperated.

Her head snapped up quickly in surprise. _Erik_? _He_ was the infamous Erik, the man from the carriage house interested in riding only mares? On her own, and without warning, her face flamed, and the room soon felt overly stuffy.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Daae?" He stared at her, curious as to what had caused the fierce blushing, embarrassing her even further.

"Yes...f-fine." She coughed self-consciously and continued her breathing exercise, while he watched her closely, head tilted, as if he were studying a new and very interesting life form. He turned away at last and she heaved a sigh of relief.

She only wanted now for this lesson to be over. She finally allowed herself to look at her teacher. He was seated at the piano jotting something down, and she was surprised to see him using his left hand. There had been a boy in school with her who'd tried using that hand for writing, and he'd been severely reprimanded for it, the school mistress even going so far as to smack him over the offending knuckles with a ruler for the offense, then tying the pencil to his right hand.

Ha! She would love to see someone with the audacity to smack _Erik's_ hand.

"Now then, Miss Daae. Stand, please." he said as he approached her. For the next few minutes, he pointed out how deplorable her posture was, and the steps she needed to take to improve it. All important for tonal quality and projecting the voice, which had to be clearly heard over a fully engaged orchestra, he said. He never got too near to her, keeping a good distance between them at all times.

Her teacher had effectively taken the wind out of her sails...how many others had noticed her stooped and bent shoulders...he made her feel like an old crone barely able to hobble along. She briefly wondered, in a fit of pique, if he and Aunt Edna had decided to work on her deplorable posture together. Oh yes, she thought bitterly, let's not forget Miss Bennett!

Nadir had wandered back into the room looking self-satisfied once again. He actually smirked at her as he took his seat. Probably having a large piece of that apple pie she'd seen in the kitchen, she thought irritably.

As Erik worked on her breathing and posture, Christine felt her frustration mounting. She glanced over at Nadir, who looked at her sympathetically and shrugged his shoulders.

Finally their first lesson ended. Christine stood there a minute as the two men conversed near the window, then the Persian turned and went out to the hall. She was more than ready to leave too...she wanted to run out of the room.

"Thank you, Mr.-Erik. Until tomorrow then."

"Good evening, Miss Daae."

He stood near the piano, tall and straight as an arrow. No problems with _his_ posture, she thought grumpily.

She was nearly out the door, when she hesitated and turned around. He looked at her inquiringly, black mask impersonal and emotionless. She didn't think she would ever get used to it...or _him._

"You may call me Christine, if you'd p-prefer." she said in a halting voice.

He nodded. "Very well." Christine turned and walked quickly out to the hall where Nadir was waiting for her."How was it, Christine? Anything at all what you expected?"

She smiled weakly at him. "Actually, no."

"Why...what _did_ you expect?"

"We spent one whole hour focused on my _posture_ of all things! I didn't sing one note." she said with disgust.

The Persian chuckled, amused. "Erik is a conscientious and thorough man. Unfortunately, he can be very exacting. I'm sure the singing will come in due time. Be patient...you've only just begun."

She nodded, and remembering in time, she squared her shoulders back and stood straighter as she'd been instructed.

Nadir watching her, swallowed a laugh. "Were you at all nervous around him? I know the effect he has on people."

She shrugged and tucked a loose curl behind one ear. "I wasn't frightened of him...not much anyway. Really...it wasn't so bad."

She would remember those words in the coming weeks and months. And cringe at how very naïve she had been.


	8. Chapter 8

"You. Are. Not. Emoting!"

He stormed around the room looking at her with disgust. "This is the apex of the aria, Christine. The love. The longing. The intense passion for your lover...it should all be in your voice, convincing everyone of your _feelings_. And what do you give me? A school girl's whimperings!"

She was breathing hard and fast, nearing a rage to match his own. On this cold, late February evening, it had been the forth time he'd stopped her only to demand she start over. He began by accompanying her on the piano, then had started walking around the room, hands behind his back, staring hard at her as she stood near the grand. And it made her nervous, which wasn't having a good affect on her voice.

He was a taskmaster of the worst sort, and there were days she wanted to plead illness, just so she didn't have to face his hair-trigger temper. He even expected her to show up for lessons on Christmas Eve _and_ Christmas Day. Nadir fortunately had sided with her, and those two days were absolutely blissful, not only because she didn't have to see her teacher's thin unrelenting form, but she also had a visit from Raoul Christmas night.

They sat in the parlor together, side by side on the sofa and she was thrilled when he presented her with a box of chocolates. They gazed on the Christmas tree with all its handmade ornaments and paper-chain garland, the little white candles a golden glow on the green branches. Tucked behind a chair out of sight was a large bucket of water, just in case the pretty glowing candles caught their lovely spruce tree on fire.

"Would you care to go skating with me tomorrow? The pond is solid ice and the weather looks to stay real cold. Say you will, Christine." Raoul had said in the most charming way he knew.

She held her box of candy on her lap and nodded happily. "I'd love to. I need to get out of this house for a while. Can Meg come too? She's been moping around here for the past week."

He gave in gracefully about the Giry girl tagging along...Meg really wasn't such a bad sort. "Well...I guess so, if you think she'd want to go with us."

Meg was thrilled to be invited along and wore her favorite wool suit, a deep blue with black ruching on the jacket and a wide flounce at the bottom of the skirt. She'd been hoping for something like this to happen since last month, and all her fevered wishing had miraculously come true. She was looking forward to a few hours with Raoul...and of course, Christine.

They went ice skating on Miller's Pond and Christine had a wonderful time in the crisp, cold air; it put roses in her cheeks and gave her more happiness than she'd had in days. The three of them linked arms and glided over the ice, laughing at anything and everything, until a couple of boys during some horseplay, barreled into them. They went down together in a flurry of skirts and red flannel petticoats...Christine and Meg laughing hysterically, when Raoul jumped up with balled fists, ready to do battle with boys no older than ten. He grinned sheepishly, and gallantly helped the two ladies to their feet. An enterprising youngster set up a small stand near the pond selling roasted chestnuts, and Raoul bought a bag for them to share. They had so much fun...and that's why she forgot the time and was a half hour late for her lesson.

They made the long trek home from the pond, their breath in the cold night air a white cloud in front of them, their talk animated and lively. Just before they turned down Broad St., Meg gathered her courage and invited Raoul home with them for hot chocolate. He accepted rather quickly with one eye on Christine. She nodded...she'd been about to ask him the same thing, when with horror she remembered her voice lesson.

She hurried to the black iron streetlight and looked at the watch pinned to the jacket of her suit. Nearly seven thirty! Blast, blast and blast! she cursed, as her buoyant mood from the day evaporated and fear rose in its place.

"I have to go. I'm late." she said rapidly, in a light and breathless voice.

Raoul put his hand out to stop her. "Late for what, Christine? What are you talking about?" he said, puzzled.

"I can't talk now. I must go! Good night, Raoul and thank you!" she threw over her shoulder as she flew up the street, leaving a confused Raoul and a happy Meg to follow slowly behind, not stopping until she arrived at Archer House.

She had hitched up her skirts, and raced up the stairs to the tower room with a hasty stop on the landing to catch her breath...her stays were digging into her sides painfully. It was her habit now to touch the serene lady in her niche for luck before going to her lesson. Tonight she would need more than just luck...she would need a miracle. Her maestro would no doubt be appraising her with his disturbing eyes when she arrived, so patting the lady on the head in her usual manner, she made it to the door out of breath and with dread in her heart. She was late and he would be livid.

And he was. She entered the room shaking in her boots, to find him seated at the piano, scribbling on a composition sheet and sounding it out on the keyboard. His stillness and concentration on his work meant nothing...she could tell just by looking at his rigid back and his refusal to turn around, he was in a fury.

Nadir had stopped sitting in on their lessons, satisfied that as long as he was present somewhere in the house, he was still fulfilling his obligation to Christine, and needn't actually be in the room. And watching the two of them together as teacher and student had been painfully dull.

She stood there twisting her hands, her fair cheeks red as apples from the cold winter night. "Erik, I'm sorry...really I am. I was skating...and...and I forgot the time. It...it won't happen again..."

He neither spoke nor turned around for a good five minutes and she was mortified. Stay or go, Christine? she wondered, and remained firmly rooted to the floor. Maybe if she was very quiet, she could back slowly to the door without him hearing her. Yes, she thought with a curl of her lip...and pigs will fly. He would most definitely hear her...his senses were uncanny. Her thoughts returned to her very first visit here, and she wondered briefly why she'd ever been stupid enough to come back. She had finally worked up enough courage to leave, when he cleared his throat, put down his pen and stood up. He approached her, deliberately taking his time, all the while assessing her as she stood in the middle of the room. He reminded her of a big rangy tomcat stalking a tiny yellow canary...if her maestro had a tail, it would be lashing back and forth at this very moment. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the nervous giggle trying to escape from her mouth. Laughter at this moment in front of _this_ man, would not be a very good idea. No, not at all. As so often in the past, she wanted only to turn around and flee.

"This is the dedication to your instrument? As soon as it becomes inconvenient, you push it aside for something more exciting?" He said the words calmly, but his anger was clearly palpable.

She tried to defend herself, but she knew he was right. She'd been having a nice time and her lesson had seemed far away. _He _had seemed far away.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir." the sir coming automatically, very conscious of his mood.

"Yes...I daresay you are. But thirty minutes of _my_ time has been wasted, waiting for you. Was it the boy again?" he sneered.

"Um...well yes, but Meg also. W-We went ice skating on M-Miller's Pond. We g-go there every year..."

He had clasped his hands behind his back as he always did, and observed her from his great height. "What you did before these lessons commenced is of no concern to me." his voice cutting with a sarcasm that made her feel small and insignificant.

He leveled a hard look at his student."However...what you do now, _does_. You must discipline yourself better than you've been doing or you shall never reach the pinnacle of your talent. You must _prove_ to me that this is what you will work hard to accomplish. I find that I do not want to spend more of my time on a child who can't embrace her future. If merely living in the present and having _fun_ is all you wish for yourself, then have at it...be on your way and don't let me stop you."

His words were harsh and biting, and she felt the tears threatening...just as they always did around her teacher. She became nothing more than a watering pot. He had said the word _fun_, as if it were something degrading and shameful.

Christine felt the happiness of the day disappearing just like the pond ice would, come spring. "I do want to learn, Erik." she said, thoroughly subdued.

"Then I suggest you get your priorities straight. And until you do...these lessons are concluded. See yourself out."

He walked over to the piano and went back to what he'd been doing before she'd slunk in, deliberately ignoring her again, but she could tell from the jut of his chin, that one more word from her, and he would release that pent-up rage on her. Hot tears filled her eyes, a mixture of bitterness and anger, and she had gone home that night hating _him_ with all her might.

And returned the next evening for her lesson.

She promised herself that she would make music her priority and never be late again. But she would not choose between it and Raoul. Her maestro said nothing the following night when she arrived for her lesson five minutes early, and he went through that hour as if he'd never issued her an ultimatum.

But that didn't mean he'd forgotten.

Winter had moved along mostly filled with snowy days and nights with the occasional brief warm-up, then a plunge in temperature once again, but all the while her teacher gradually shaped her voice into what he'd always known it could be. Christine was pleased with the progress in her singing and couldn't fathom stopping now.

But although Erik knew his business when it came to music, he was not a patient man...

She had known when she walked in the tower room that February evening and saw his vest, she was in trouble. Over the months, she'd noticed something very interesting about her maestro. His moods were tied to the choice of a waistcoat for that particular day. She had watched him over time, fascinated by her discovery, knowing it was bizarre, but also that it was true. A green or dark gold waistcoat meant a quieter almost thoughtful Erik; a deep red vest was a warning...he was going to be irritable on those days. But the unrelieved black waistcoat, minus even embroidery was the worst. Then...he was moody, sarcastic and quick to anger.

And that's what he was wearing this evening.

He finally sat down, and once more, started playing. He pointed a long finger at her. "Again."

And for the fifth time, she began the aria, confident that she could become the part, and truly feel the passion and longing her teacher wanted from her, but as hard as she tried, her heart wasn't in it. She reached desperately for the notes, needing very much to please him, but with a crash of chords, he stood up abruptly, knocking the heavy bench over with a jarring crash, and making her jump in fear.

"Enough! You are _wasting_ my time, girl! Why? You're not even trying tonight!" he shouted.

Her anger had dissipated as his grew...she couldn't take it anymore and she started to cry. He always brought out the worst in her, and she reverted to child-like behavior in the face of his wrath.

"I _am_ trying, Erik! Maybe if you didn't p-push me so hard..." She sneaked a peek at him, then looked at the floor. His eyes held an angry gleam in them...he still had the ability to make her extremely nervous.

Nadir appeared at the door, huffing and puffing, clearly out of breath from his hasty sprint up to the tower. "Allah have mercy! What's going on in here, Erik? It sounded like you were moving that piano clear across the room!"

The masked man snorted at that. "Hardly. I was merely getting Christine's attention." He looked at his student, eyes gleaming with ill humor. "It was wandering again." he said dryly.

The Persian looked from his friend to the little Daae, who had very obviously been crying. "Well, perhaps you can find a quieter way of accomplishing that." he said, looking peevishly at his friend. Then he glanced at Christine. "Are you all right, child?"

She sneaked another quick look at her teacher, who looked calmly back at her, then nodded slowly. "Yes." She studied her shoes, feeling extremely embarrassed and wishing the floor would simply open and swallow her.

The Persian sighed and shook his head, giving them each another long look. "Very well...I'll be down the hall if anyone needs me and he looked pointedly at Christine.

Once he'd gone, Erik replaced his bench and glanced at her. "Well? Can you try this again, or are your delicate nerves too fragile from Erik's attack on your sensibilities? He can be quite the ogre, can't he?"

He continued to look at her, and confused, she nodded her head. "Y-Yes...I mean...no." She felt an involuntary shiver. "Yes, I can continue."

And he began playing.

She was hopelessly tangled in the aria...the notes were strained and anything but precise. The emotion was not there either...she was flat, and she knew it stemmed from her nervousness and despondency.

Her teacher knew it too. He jerked his chin toward the chair by the window. "Sit."

She took a seat, wondering what he planned, when he started to play again. Her jaw dropped when she heard his voice in the very same aria she'd been trying to sing. It was in a different key, but the beauty and strength of his tenor was astounding and the passion she couldn't find in _her _singing, was readily apparent in his. She sighed...he was wonderful.

Erik turned and looked at her very briefly after he had finished, then said between his teeth. "This lesson is over. Go home, Christine." And he turned his back on her.

His obvious contempt for her and her singing abilities after his beautiful rendition of the aria was the last straw. She needed very badly to justify herself to him.

"Tidbit gave birth to one kitten, and sh-she won't feed him. I think he's going to...to die." She was horrified when she started to cry again...doing her now famous rendition of a watering pot.

Her teacher said nothing and Christine grabbed her coat and started to leave. But before she made it out the door, he stopped her. "Wait."

She turned to him, wiping at her eyes with both hands, embarrassed that her nose was running as well.

"I thought you ladies were supposed to have a handkerchief for times such as these," and he handed her a meticulously folded one of his own, to which she mumbled her thanks and mopped up her tears...he winced when she noisily blew her nose. "Since a lesson seems beyond us, I suggest you show me this cat of yours," and motioned for her to precede him through the door. He grabbed his hat and cloak on the way out, and together they walked over to the Stone carriage house. Patches of ice were still abundant, which is why Christine more than once, slipped. Erik gripped her by the elbow and with his easy grace, steered her safely across his yard and into hers.

She held the lantern while he opened the door and they entered, to be greeted by Tidbit and the weak cries of a hungry and lonely kitten. Nellie shifted in her stall and snaked her head over the door, watching them curiously. Erik approached the straw where they could see the tiny black kitten...his head poked in the air, sightless and frail. He scooped the kitten up in one large hand and peered closely at it, then laid him gently back in the straw.

"Get the kitten's mother and put her down with him."

She did as he requested and put Tidbit in with her kitten. She immediately stalked off, and the baby's cries became more desperate, sensing his mother and nourishment.

Christine became agitated. "Do you see what I mean? She wants nothing to do with her baby! What's wrong with her?"

He gave a slight shake of his head, then picked up the kitten again. "It doesn't really matter much, does it? She's rejecting him, pure and simple. Not all mothers automatically love their offspring."

"So the kitten is going to die, isn't he?" she said, already mourning its death.

He glanced at her woebegone face, still blotchy from her more recent bout of tears, and one corner of his thin mouth lifted in a rare smile. "I never said that, now did I? He's going home with me where I can keep an eye on him. Let me try...maybe I can keep him alive long enough for him to gain some strength, and for _you_ to take an interest in your lessons again."

The words rushed out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Erik? You have a lovely voice. I...well I felt privileged hearing you tonight." she said quietly.

He sighed with impatience. "I wasn't entertaining you, Christine. I wanted to show you how the aria _should_ sound. Use your own feelings...your...your _longings_, to give the music life. You can do it, but you must try."

She nodded and smiled weakly. "I do...but perhaps not hard enough. I'll do better. I promise, Maestro." She gestured at his hand which cradled the kitten. "At least I feel better about him."

He started to leave the carriage house, then stopped. "I make no promises, you understand."

Christine felt a rare warmth toward her teacher, his actions now, so very different from his previous behavior. "Thank you, Erik...for at least trying to save Phantom."

He paused again at the threshold and gave her a peculiar look. "And _why_ would you name this ratty little mite that?"

She felt defensive now at his tone. "It's for the bounty hunter...the one no one knows very much about. Surely you've heard of him? I admire the man. He's going after thieves and murderers others are afraid of, just to make our towns safer to live in. Why...he puts himself in terrible danger everyday!"

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a challenging look.

Erik made a sound of disgust. "What utter claptrap, Christine! Bounty hunting means exactly that...collecting money for riff raff the law can't seem to catch themselves. I daresay they would still be running around loose, if there wasn't a nice finder's fee involved.

"Now...get yourself indoors before you catch a chill."

He turned and was swallowed by the darkness, and she reflected on how easy it was to lose that warm feeling she'd had for her teacher. _Utter claptrap indeed!_ She closed the door and extinguished the lantern, setting it near the walk, with the intention of returning it to him tomorrow. Then she finally went in the house, hoping he could work a miracle on the kitten. On Phantom.

All through the week she pestered him on the kitten's progress, well...as much as someone like her maestro _could_ be pestered. Friday evening he agreed to show her the kitten.

They were practicing Barbarina's aria from The Marriage of Figaro, and Erik was being his usual exacting self. "This aria is tailored for a soubrette...you can do it. You _have_ many times...it's your consistency I worry about! You have the range for much greater roles...as a lyric coloratura, if you focus, Christine. Once more!"

Afterward, he swiveled around on the bench, and leaned forward, hands on his knees regarding her thoughtfully. "I have it on good authority that Mozart's, The Marriage of Figaro, will be the house's very first performance. Auditions will begin I'm told, sometime in late March...maybe sooner."

He watched her face for a reaction, and was gratified to see the excitement shining from her wide blue eyes.

"And I want you to audition for a spot in the company." he said quietly. "Barbarina would be a good role for you."

"Oh...do you think I'm ready, Erik? That would be wonderful though! Imagine...me onstage! Aunt Edna will be thrilled!"

"You are more than ready for _this_ part. It's small and as you know you'll only have to contend with the one aria, but you will shine in it, Christine. You must enjoy yourself first of all, and giving you too much to think about, will only overwhelm you...your voice will suffer for it."

She gave her teacher a bright smile. "You're right. A larger role _would_ overwhelm me. So that's why we've been focusing on this aria."

He turned back to the piano."Yes. You have all the time in the world to be the diva. For now, we get you comfortable with the stage, then after your voice matures, you can take on the larger roles."

He started to play in F minor, and she began again, putting aside the exciting images of herself onstage in the St. Joseph Opera House. _A diva...her_?

And so it continued until during a lull, she finally had to ask. "You haven't said much about the kitten, Erik...is he doing well?"

He looked up from the keys and stared at her, making her want to squirm. "If you haven't noticed...we're not finished here just yet."

Her face fell and he said with some exasperation. "Fine. I'll take you to him. Will _that_ satisfy you?"

She gave him a huge smile. "Yes," and walked over to the chair to get her coat.

"Uh, uh, uh...did I give you leave...to leave?" he said irritably.

She dropped the coat and turned around, staring daggers at his narrow back as he sat at the piano.

"Over here, if you please. We still have ten minutes of this lesson."

She sang through the aria once more, thinking she did a fairly decent job of it, but not expecting any praise. Erik never gave it.

He rose from the bench. "_Now _...we're finished here. Let's go visit with Lucifer."

Christine stopped dead in the doorway. "_Lucifer_?"

"Yes, Lucifer." he said quite firmly. "What other reward would I get for saving the little beast's life?" he said, walking downstairs beside her.

She smiled. "You simply hate the name Phantom, don't you? Admit it."

He gave her a scathing look. "Nothing of the kind. I don't begrudge you your schoolgirl delusions about this saddle tramp, but why make the cat suffer along too?"

"All right, all right. You may name him Lucifer. It's the least I can do to show my appreciation."

Her tone became softer. "I _do_ appreciate what you're doing, Erik."

He said nothing and led her through the house to a door in the hallway next to the kitchen. They went down a narrow wooden staircase and into a cavern-like room, with stone walls and floors, lit by a pair of iron sconces. The drop in temperature was immediately felt, and she clutched her coat closer. There were passages to the left and right of the space they were in, and Erik went to the right, leading her further under the house, the darkness kept back by the flickering glow of the wall lamps. She kept close to his tall form as they walked through the dimness...she felt sorry for Pha..._Lucifer, _down here all alone.

He finally stopped before a heavy oak door, and opening it, ushered her inside...to squawks, squeaks, an occasional chirp and a flurry of loud honks which tended to drown out the other inhabitants of the room. There were cages set against the walls; some with furry bodies in them...others with feathers and ...she wrinkled her nose...reptiles. A large wooden table stood in the center of the room, with small metal instruments, round glass jars and neatly piled white strips of cloth arrayed to one side. There were several sconces lit in the room and a large pendant light over the table. Erik watched her as she looked round the room, and he pointed to one corner, where a wicker basket sat on a wooden crate.

"Come and see him, Christine. I think he's doing quite well. Rather like his namesake. Lucifer...God's fallen angel."

She approached the basket and looked inside, where the kitten was nestled in straw. "Oh...Erik! Why...he's so big!" With a huge grin on her face, she looked to him for permission, and at his nod, she picked up the kitten, who looked drowsy and content...no longer starving. He was a different animal...in just five days, he'd plumped up and looked much healthier.

"Actually, we're just in time for his feeding and you may have the honor tonight." He moved away, readying the kitten's meal, while she held him, nuzzling her face into his soft fur. She looked into the box and noticed a thick cloth wrapped around something. Christine reached her hand in, and touching it, she found it to be a pocket watch inside the rag.

"What is the reason for the watch in his basket? Surely he can't tell the time yet?" She giggled. Why...he's too young to know how to do that."

He grunted. "The ticking calms him. It's a passable substitute for his mother's heart."

He came back carrying a bowl of warm milk he'd heated using the Bunsen burner sitting on the scarred wooden table in the middle of the room. In his other hand he held an eyedropper. He dipped the tip of the syringe into the milk until it was full, and handed it to Christine.

"Just put the tip near his mouth and gently squeeze the bulb...he'll do the rest."

She did as he instructed and the kitten's head wobbled as he eagerly swallowed the warm milk. Christine was charmed. "Oh...the little dear! Erik, you are so clever!"

"He was hesitant at first, but the poor blighter was really too hungry to hold out for his mama anymore...that fickle feline. This is goat's milk, and he seems to be doing quite well on it. There, Christine...dip it in the milk again. It's simple really. The dropper has replaced his mother's teat, poor substitute that it is, but it gets the required job done. Notice how he still tries to suckle?"

He continued watching the kitten, and missed Christine dropping her eyes, and the cursed blush that had started to spread over her cheekbones.

She hastily changed the subject, and nodding at the watch chain draped across the front of his gold waistcoat, she asked him with a smile, "Do you have a watch on the end of that chain, or have you lost it until he's out of the basket?"

He pulled the chain out of the watch pocket, showing her the plain silver watch. "I'm willing to help him, Christine, but it's hardly likely I'd sacrifice my only timepiece to a cat!"

He returned the watch to his pocket and looked at her with what she would swear was a twinkle in his yellow eyes. "Besides...it's that pesky old Persian's watch. And if you tell him where it is, I shall deny everything, and give _you_ the kitten back to take care of yourself."

Her dimples were out in full force, and she giggled to think of poor Nadir searching in vain for his watch. "I promise to keep your secret, Maestro."

Her eyes were full of laughter as she cradled the kitten and looked up at him. His gaze never wavered from hers, but held it...until she looked away. Lucifer had finished his meal and she put him back in the basket where he curled up next to Nadir's watch and went to sleep.

Christine stepped away from him and gestured at the cages, neatly filled with straw, bowls of food and water. "Where do they all come from?"

He went around checking each cage and stopped near one with a young goose inside, one wing bandaged. "Here and there. Injured...some of them, but most are orphaned. I tend to have an affinity with orphaned things."

Christine moved over beside him. The goose honked loudly at her and flapped one wing, obviously upset with her presence. Erik nodded at the goose, his mouth grimmer than usual. "This fellow is wearing out his welcome very quickly. He has a broken wing and he'll probably never fly again. I have given him exceptional care and feeding, but does the silly goose show any gratitude? None whatsoever! Just honking, day and night."

She laughed, thinking it funny that a goose could ever show gratitude. "Can't you just let him go? Maybe he needs to fend for himself."

"The wing needs time to heal...he's young yet, but a nice size. I'm afraid he'll end up as someone's next meal, but I tell you, child...I'm afraid once he hits that last nerve of mine...in the bag he goes, and he'll be going on _my _dinner table!"

The goose as if sensing Erik's displeasure with him, set to honking again.

She grinned, wandering in front of a cage that held a dove with a bandaged foot. It cooed softly. "Were _you_, Maestro? I mean...an orphan?"

He put a bowl of clean water in a cage holding a rabbit. "Yes. One of the parentless...unloved and abandoned." He turned to her, masked face eerily blank, but his eyes held all the sorrow in the world before they hardened, appearing cynical and disillusioned once again.

"But trust me, child. There are worse things out there than growing up in an orphanage.

"Shall we?"

He led her over to the door, and she turned and looked into the room one last time. Many layers to her teacher. And she'd only just begun to peel them back...one at a time.


	9. Chapter 9

Meg twirled around in the Grand Foyer, her brown eyes wide, trying to look everywhere at once. "This place is wonderful, isn't it?"

Her enthusiasm for the newly renovated opera house was catching. Christine thought it was easily the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. The white marble floor in the Grand Foyer was rich and lustrous with new life after the fire, but a very dramatic addition had been made in the center of the large entrance. In gleaming black onyx marble were the Greek comedy/tragedy masks long associated with the arts, and the theatre in particular. It was a stunning piece of work at least 25 sq. ft. in circumference, and standing along the walls in a wide semi-circle around the ebony pair in glowing white marble, were the nine Greek muses who held sway over the creative process in the arts, with the tragedy goddess Melpomine and the muse of comedy, Thalia to each side of the masks.

Christine gazed upwards at the glittering chandelier high over their heads. It was an elaborate crystal and gold confection, brilliant with countless points of light. She was very much taken with what she'd seen so far, but a tour of the opera house was not the reason for being here this morning. She was to audition for a part in the company now forming for the first production, The Marriage of Figaro, and Meg had accompanied her for moral support.

They made their way through the foyer and up the wide marble stairs to the auditorium, where they could hear a tenor voice auditioning from the stage before they reached the entrance. The theatre was splendid in red and gold with magnificently painted murals on each of the walls, depicting scenes from some of the most famous operas ever performed. Carved gilt cherubs were abundant throughout the theatre, as well as...and here she had to look closer, but there seemed to be hideously carved gargoyles, their faces stretched in grimaces of agony. She thought them an odd choice for the theatre, centered just below each private box, seemingly perched there, staring outward into the auditorium with long gilt tongues and bulging eyes. The man responsible for the renovation was a genius, she was quite sure, but had a decided lean toward the gothic. She narrowed her eyes as she gazed upward at one of the boxes...she could have sworn she saw someone moving about in it...a shadow within a shadow.

She elbowed Meg in the side. "Up there, Meggie," and she pointed at the closest box to the right of the stage. "Do you see someone in there? It's Box 5...Aunt Edna and I had that very one on occasion."

The younger girl squinted hard at the box, shaking her head. "Maybe it's being cleaned and that's what you saw...the cleaning woman."

Christine took one last look seeing nothing now, then left Meg sitting in one of the seats among the other spectators, and walked down to the stage area looking for the sign-up sheet. She needed to add her name to the list of those wishing to audition.

She saw a cluster of people around a table to the side of the stage. A man stood nearby, and she assumed he was the music director...he watched as a dark-haired woman approached the piano accompanist for the auditions and handed him her music. Christine needed to get the sheet signed; she was nervous about what she was doing, but excited as well. After all the months of lessons...after all the tears, tantrums (Erik's), repetitive practice sessions, and angst (Erik's), she felt like she was at last getting somewhere.

She was finally able to put her name down on the sheet and sighed a little when she realized she was in for a long wait; there were twenty-five auditions ahead of her. She went back up the aisle and sat beside Meg, waiting her turn.

Meg watched another auditioner approaching the stage on hesitant feet, then looked at Christine. "Do you think the owner will ever make himself known? It's strange, isn't it?"

Christine snorted. "No stranger than the fact that my aunt's network of opera house chin-waggers haven't supplied his identity yet."

A loud laugh burst from Meg, causing a few people to glance their way. She slid down in her seat and said in a low voice, "I believe Granny Beasley's maid will know that before any of those old biddies do."

Meg pointed to the immense chandelier hanging over their heads. "That alone must be worth a fortune." She sighed dramatically. "It makes me feel rich just sitting here. What would you do with all that money if you had it? Nothing could be better than being wealthy enough to have anything you ever wanted."

Christine shrugged. "I don't know, Meg. Maybe travel to all the places I've read about in books." She smiled at her friend. "Someplace exciting and full of adventure." Traveling to foreign shores was a particular dream of hers, and had been ever since she'd read her first book. It had been a story about the knights embarking on the Crusades, and had lit a fire in her to see new places.

She agreed with Meg though...the opera house was a treasure for St. Joe, and she hoped to be a part of it...nervously she listened to the men and women ahead of her. She wanted very much to feel confident about her chances...it could only make her audition that much better. Erik felt sure that she would get the part of Barbarina and she wished she could believe as he did, but some of the auditioners sounded wonderful to her. Especially a young brunette soprano named Carlotta, who seemed not only to have the ability to hit the notes loudly and with very little strain, but had stage presence as well.

"You'll be better than _any_ of them, Christine! Wouldn't I know? I've been teaching you all these months. Believe in your own abilities as I do...you must, or you won't get far in this business." her teacher had said to her the night before, eying her with his customary look of impatience. She would give anything to see him smile with pride at her.

There were singers good and bad while they sat there; they played a game choosing their own picks for the roles...the loser would have to buy a bottle of rose eau de toilette for the winner. After a husky young baritone finished his audition piece and left the stage, the next one was called.

"Miss Christine Daae, please." the music director said above the noise of so many people milling about.

She looked at Meg in confusion. By her guess, there should still be at least nineteen ahead of her, but shrugging her slender shoulders, she turned and headed for the stage, Meg giving her a smile of encouragement.

She hesitantly walked up the steps and approached the accompanist to give him her music selection. It was a piece written by her teacher, and was specially chosen for this audition. She positioned herself near center stage, smoothing her hands down her brown merino skirt, her nerves trying to take over her equilibrium.

The music began and the theatre quieted; she opened her mouth and started to sing, but she was shaky and disconnected, feeling as if everyone was judging her and finding her sadly lacking. She felt shy and self-conscious...no longer grown-up and poised, only childish and inadequate. Her voice suffered for it; she tried to hit the higher notes with precision, but she fell short and the panic started to set in. She began to tremble and broke into a cold sweat.

"Sing the way I've shown you, Christine. _You_ out of all of these people can do this. You _know_ you can. Now sing!"

The voice of her maestro had settled in her left ear, and she gave her head a minute shake, as if to dislodge him from his perch. He was somewhere very close by. He had said nothing to her about being present for her audition, and slowly she was able to pull herself together and regain control. Her confidence climbed and she landed softly on the notes, remembering all she'd been taught, knowing Erik's instruction was helping her now. It wasn't her best, but she was able to showcase some of her strengths, instead of all of her weaknesses...she only hoped it was enough. When her aria had ended, there was quiet in the theatre for a few seconds, then a smattering of applause was heard. Christine let out a huge sigh of relief and left the stage.

"Thank you, Miss Daae. May I have a word, please?"

She threaded her way through those standing below the footlights, and approached Mr. Reyer with some degree of trepidation. He was a middle-aged man of medium height, thin and intense with wiry gray hair.

"That was very nice, Miss Daae. Very nice, indeed. Might I ask the name of the composer? I'm not familiar with that piece at all."

She was dumbfounded and didn't know how to respond. She actually thought Erik would speak up and tell her what to say, but perversely, he remained silent. "Um...I got it from some of my...my father's sheet music, Mr. Reyer. I...uh...I don't k-know who wrote it."

The director nodded at that. "And your lessons? Who has been teaching you? Obviously someone has given you excellent instruction."

He watched her closely, and again she was stuck for an answer. "My aunt h-had someone give me a few lessons last summer, sir, but I can't seem to...to recall his name."

"You're a terrible liar, Christine. I'm persuaded to never have you lie for me under _any_ circumstances...most especially to nosy directors."

She jumped at _his_ voice in her ear again. It was like having an evil imp in her head...it was getting very crowded in there.

"Miss Daae? Are you quite all right?" Mr. Reyer was watching her warily, as if he thought her capable of deciding to suddenly bite him.

She nodded and he smiled uneasily. "The easy part is over...now you must wait and see if you are chosen. The names of the new company will be posted backstage outside the practice room, no later than five o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

He sighed wearily. "The owner wants everything to move expeditiously...that's why there are so many here today...it's quite a crush of people, isn't it? This process should take a lot longer than just these few days, and I fear he won't slow down until opening night gives him a rousing success."

"That...that damned...popinjay!" her teacher sputtered angrily in her ear.

"Shh...he'll hear you, Maestro!" she whispered, not at all sure what had put him in a snit.

"Not such a bad thing, I daresay." he growled.

"Hush!" she said, exasperated, and couldn't believe she'd just told her teacher to be quiet. Where in the world was he hiding that he was able to hear this conversation?

"Hush, you say? Whatever for, young woman?" Mr. Reyer was watching her again with a frown of disapproval on his face.

"I n-never said that, sir. I said um...rush. Yes, he certainly _is _in a rush, isn't he?" she finished weakly, and walked quickly away, only to bump into Becky Drake making for the stage. An angry Becky Drake.

"I would like someone to explain to me how you signed up after I did, but auditioned before me. How do you explain _that_, Christine? You must be _very _good friends with someone around here!"

She didn't wait for an answer, but brushed by her angrily and continued on to the stage. Christine went back to her seat beside Meg and sat down wearily.

Meg grabbed her hand. "See! I said you'd be fine and you were. I just know you'll get a part, Christine. Your aunt will be so proud!"

Then her brow furrowed in puzzlement. "But how did you move ahead of everyone? You told me you would have to wait a long time, and it seemed that you no sooner sat down, they were calling for you."

Christine shrugged, not sure what had happened. She had caught a few others looking at her suspiciously when she'd gone ahead of everyone else. Meg glanced at her, feeling the envy and resentment once again. Pretty, talented, and with Raoul de Chagny in her pocket...she wasn't happy feeling this way about her best friend, but found that she couldn't help herself. She was just glad that Raoul hadn't been here for her audition, for if he had, he wouldn't have glanced Meg's way once.

They listened to Becky sing, and to Christine it really wasn't bad at all. She wasn't the only one getting voice instruction it seemed. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Raoul, and they were both surprised to see him, but Meg knew _she_ wasn't the reason he was here, and that knowledge hurt her.

"Christine! Egads, you were wonderful! I arrived a little late, but I heard most of your song...I'm just glad I made it here in time." He was startled to see Meg sitting beside the blonde haired girl...he was disappointed, but smiled anyway. It's not that he didn't like Meg...she just talked too much, and he'd been anticipating a quiet walk home with Christine.

He sat down in front of the girls and turned around to face them. "They would be loco to pass you up for _that_," he whispered loudly, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Becky Drake, who had just finished her audition and was headed determinedly toward them.

Christine grabbed Meg's arm and gave it a tug. "Uh oh...time to leave! Here comes Becky! And she's not very happy with me right now."

Meg glanced at the glowering Becky and nodded wisely. "Oh yes, she's a regular looking Sour Sarah, isn't she? I think you sang a little _too _well for her peace of mind. It's a shame there's not a wagon and a mud puddle now to stop her."

Christine laughed, her audition behind her, feeling carefree and happy once again. Mr. Reyer had called a short break, and the theatre was buzzing with noise.

Raoul looked at the giggling Christine and Meg in confusion...it was his habitual emotion when confronted with women. His mother had always puzzled him with her attitude toward the silliest things, such as dresses, hats and tea parties, but if his father or brother began talking about something important such as the merits of this gelding or that mare, she would begin yawning and her eyes would glaze over. And now _these _girls were confusing him yet again. He'd only just sat down and here they were, forcing him back to his feet. He glanced down the aisle and saw that Becky Drake was nearly to where they were standing, and both girls had each grabbed one of his arms and started to tow him up the aisle wasting no time. Their laughter was catching, and still not quite sure what was so hilarious, Raoul joined in as well, good naturedly allowing himself to be led away.

Becky's steps slowed as she watched Christine walking away with the other two, all three highly amused. She finally came to a halt, hands on her hips, staring after them. "One of these days you're going to get yours, Christine Daae." she spat. "Oh yes you will. I promise you!"

The three of them never hesitated, but took off up the aisle laughing as they made their way out to the street, heads together, completely unaware of a dark shadow watching them, amber eyes narrowed and intense on the two blonde heads side by side.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Christine threw her shawl around her shoulders and left the house, cradling a warm peach cobbler in her arms as she made her way to Archer House for her lesson. It was still chilly in late March and she shivered as she tapped on the kitchen door, her arms too full of cobbler to manage the door on her own. Her aunt was still in transports over Christine's audition for the very first production in the newly renovated St. Joseph Opera House. Edna was nervous but hopeful for her niece's chances, thinking Erik's instruction was going to be the deciding factor, blithely unaware that it was the _only _one.

She was surprised when Nadir answered the door for it was usually Mrs. Cole. He held it open for her as she walked over to the wooden counter and set the pan down, the aroma of fruit and spices filling the large room.

"Hannah made one of these for you and the maestro. She said he likes her desserts...especially the peach cobbler. How in Heaven's name does she know that? She wouldn't tell _me_."

Nadir laughed, but to Christine it sounded strained. "It would seem that they met again last night when Erik went looking for that imp of a cat. He left the cellar door open for just a moment and the damned...excuse me, Christine...the cat got out." He put up a hand at the look on her face. "It's fine. It didn't go anywhere. Just over to your yard, probably looking for Erik...the animal follows him like a dog."

She removed her shawl and draped it over a chair, then turned back to him with a smile. "Well, that's one crisis sorted out. How did Hannah meet him, Nadir? I know he met her briefly the night he spoke with my aunt, but that was all."

The Persian walked over to the cobbler and was sniffing it appreciatively. "My, Christine, but this smells delightful. Old bachelors such as myself, love home cooking."

"I gather that much, but I need to get upstairs before I'm late. Uh, you were saying...?"

He straightened up and gave her an apologetic smile, eying the pan one last time. She hid a grin...he'd probably have half of it gone before she was very far into her lesson.

"Of course...forgive me. Erik saw the kitten wander into your carriage house and your housekeeper nearly shut him inside for the night and Erik was having none of that. He's become attached to the beast, believe it or not. He frightened Hannah quite badly...those damned eyes of his, no doubt...excuse me, Christine. Well, he did call out to her, but she was already in a bit of a panic when she saw him approaching; I'm sure she was getting ready to scream, but luckily I was nearby and hurried over. After a few minutes, we were able to calm her down."

"Nadir," she said, with as much patience as a sixteen year old could maintain. "I have a lesson in _five minutes _so will you _please_ tell me why Hannah would make him one of her famous peach cobblers for scaring her half to death?"

He shrugged. "Because when Erik wishes to, he can be quite charming. As he was last night with Madame Jules."

"_Who_?"

"That's what he calls her, Christine. In just a few minutes, she was conversing with him as old friends do. And she made _him_ a cobbler." he said in disgust.

She swallowed a laugh at his obvious jealousy over Hannah's bake goods. "Well, I think there's enough of it for the both of you. I have to get upstairs before I find myself in trouble again." She started to walk away, and turned back with an ornery grin. "And don't worry...I'm sure Hannah would make _you_ another cobbler anytime you like." she soothed.

The Persian put a hand on her arm. "I don't want to frighten you, Christine, but he's been in a foul mood for most of the day. That's why Mrs. Cole isn't here...she retired to bed early...said she's had quite enough of his temper for one day, and she's not too happy with that cat of his either...she can't keep it off the furniture or out of the potted palms, and Erik just grunts at her when she tells him." He shook his head. "The animal is more like a crow than a cat. He helps himself to anything shiny; he's been caught numerous times carrying items he's removed from tables...once, it was one of Mrs. Cole's ear-bobs; he'd somehow got into her bedroom, but luckily she was able to catch him at it before he escaped. He's the very devil himself."

Christine had to laugh at that. "Were you _trying_ to be amusing, Nadir?"

"Yes, well leave it to Erik to give the little beast such a name, but speaking of the devil, I believe I'll accompany you upstairs, if it's all the same to you." he said with a long suffering sigh.

"It's all right. He's been in horrible moods before, and I've survived. You stay here in the kitchen and have some of that cobbler." She winked mischieviously at him. "Before _you know who_ gets his hands on it." She smiled in relief. "At least _this _time I'm not the cause of his anger."

Not exactly true, as she was about to find out.

She walked into the tower room precisely at seven, and saw her teacher standing at the window overlooking the street. He stood there with hands clasped behind his thin back, staring at the road below, which was now for the most part in darkness. Lucifer was batting a wad of paper around, looking plump and adorable...he was jet black and full of energy at the moment, but Christine knew he would be napping before the hour was old.

"Did you ever notice how everyone wants to be home before dark, Christine? What is it they fear so much when the sun goes down?"

He hadn't turned around, but spoke to her reflection in the window. She felt a moment of unease, but kept still.

He chuckled, a dark velvet sound that caused a shiver to go up her spine. "I _prefer _the dark...it hides the ugliness that is so revealing in the glare of day. It makes the abnormal almost...well, _almost_ seem normal. The night shelters those who have...much to hide from the world."

One long hand unfurled elegantly alongside his mask. "Daylight or the deep cool night...this is the _face_ I present to all. Pray, Christine that you never see beneath it."

He surprised her with those words and she felt a tiny flutter of fear. Over the months, they had developed a better working relationship...he could still lose his temper with her and she was always cautious around him, but now they had moments sometimes bordering on friendship. He was an enigma to her, but she thought wryly...he was never boring. His acknowledgement of the mask was more than he'd ever revealed to her, and she wondered what had caused him to at last mention it.

She was confused. "But I have seen your face, Maestro. That night on the road. Remember?"

He met her wide innocent eyes in the glass and shook his head. "That...my dear student, was just another mask."

His tone was calm and quiet, but over time she'd learned his voice inflections before a sudden unnerving change of mood in him, and that's how she understood now. He was angry. With her.

She stared at him startled. His piercing gaze was making her uncomfortable and she wondered again how much was wrong with his face, that he would forever keep it hidden away? But she knew he wouldn't brook any questions centered on _why_ he wore masks, and that kept her silent.

"Erik, I don't..."

"This isn't cutting into precious time with your boy, is it?" he said casually, but she knew better.

"I...don't know what you mean. I'm here for my lesson."

He finally turned around and faced her. Her unease grew as she met his eyes, which were narrowed and hostile. "Did you invite him to your audition this morning, Christine?"

Anger began to war with her nervousness...even for her teacher, he was overstepping his bounds. "With all due respect, Maestro, why would it be so wrong to invite Raoul in the first place? What harm would it do?"

He walked toward her...but stopped when she started to back away from him. "What harm would it do, you ask? Well, let me tell you...perhaps I can enlighten you a bit.

"Most assuredly, he was drawn to you the very first time he made your aquaintance...without a doubt, he admires your pretty hair and blue eyes...he wants to sit in your aunt's parlor and hold tightly to your hand, or perhaps he wants to invite you to go _iceskating_. _You_ enjoy his company also...look forward to his visits. And then? Well then, he wants to hear you sing...and you invite him to do just that. And he enjoys listening to you...listening _and_ watching. That's fine. Who would not? But...after spending enough time in your charming company, he tells you the most natural thing in the world...he's in love with you."

He paused a moment and looked away from her, then said in a near whisper, "He tells you he's in love with you, and you tell him those sentiments are returned. You are quite...smitten with him. And again...why wouldn't you be? He's handsome...personable. Just what every young girl wants...a prince of men...one to cause great pride because he indeed ...is yours. All women will look at your choice, and envy you for your great good fortune...which in turn, makes you love him all the more. So naturally, when he asks for your hand in marriage...you accept, and you're deliriously happy..."

His eyes alighted on her again, and she couldn't help but wonder what emotion she saw roiling in their yellow depths. Somehow she didn't think happiness had anything to do with it. His long arms remained behind his back, his feet planted wide apart...a stance with which she was very familiar. He continued speaking in that pleasant tone of his, which was causing the hairs on her neck to rise. She felt something dangerous, loose in the room...coiled and ready to lash out at her.

"But _you_ make a caveat. You will marry your handsome prince, but only on one condition..._that_ being...you continue to sing professionally. After all, you have finally remembered the months of instruction your poor afflicted teacher has devoted himself to on your behalf. Your young man agrees...of course he does...he would promise you _anything_ at this point. The two of you marry, and you are smug in your great joy, walking down that aisle to your handsome golden haired lover. After the wedding, the two of you are blissfully content in your pretty and perfect world. So happy in fact, that you...begin a family."

He watched her closely, his thin lips curled in distaste at the words he'd just uttered. "Need I say more?"

She said nothing, but could only watch him as his anger and sarcasm had grown. Why oh why was he always so difficult? she wondered, bracing for the storm about to break over her head.

"Well? Do you understand _now _why I'm so concerned, Christine?"

She remained silent watching him, knowing that she could very well make his anger worse if she said the wrong thing.

"Do you?" he barked at her, those two words exploding from him, making her jump. He stood in front of her, his hands fisted. "Tell me you understand!" he said, his voice harsh.

Her eyes were wide and fixed on his; his gaze was nearly mesmerizing to her, his pupils large and lustrous, seeming to swallow the yellow of the irises. She had read of men from India who could charm snakes...she rather thought he would be excellent at that particular skill. But in a way she _did _understand him...after all these months, it wasn't all that difficult when it concerned her.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing himself to calm down.

Christine saw his struggle at controlling his anger. "I think I do." she said quietly.

"That boy could very well get in the way of your singing. I-I would hate to see that happen. Your instrument should be shared with the world and not forgotten simply because you're the mother of several squalling brats!"

She could see the loss he was already envisioning...it was in his eyes and she understood why he was in this mood. It didn't matter that he was being a bit premature with her marital status...it hadn't been so very long ago that she'd been prepared to soap windows. But, no matter. He saw Raoul as a serious threat to her singing onstage professionally. He stood glowering at her...as always, a study in black and just as intimidating as ever. He never laughed, and smiled rarely; he could be cold with her and dictatorial, as he was now. And although he could still make her nervous and reduce her to tears, she was beginning to understand that even when he was sarcastic, frustrated...and loud, he would never harm her. She knew it intuitively...knew it as well as she knew her own name. He could wound her with words or cutting remarks, but never physically. But she had to acknowledge that it was still very painful.

But anyone else might not be as lucky. If his anger was to be unleashed on Raoul...she shuddered. The two had never met and already there was bad blood between them.

"Erik." she searched for the correct words to make him understand she wasn't going anywhere just yet. "First of all...I didn't _invite_ Raoul to my audition. I-I told him about it, but I didn't invite him to it. And I have no intention of marrying. I'm...well I'm sixteen years old and in no hurry to be _anyone's_ wife."

She started to feel relief now that she'd discovered the reason for his anger. "But honestly, Maestro...why are you in such an awful hurry to marry me off?" She snorted. "It's the furtherest thing from my mind!"

The fire gradually died out of his eyes and he took another deep breath and relaxed...just a little. He was never completely easy around her, but the coiled danger she'd felt was gone from the room and she could visibly see the tenseness and anger draining from his stiff body.

"If I could believe that, I would be the hap..." he stopped and thrust his arms quickly behind his back again. "I don't want that boy interfering with your singing career. You could be great someday, Christine. But not if you're cajoled into becoming a common wife and mother."

She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, looking at him a shade defiantly. "I have every intention of becoming both of those eventually. There is nothing common about either. I look forward to it. Someday."

He stared at the floor for a moment, then looked back up at her, watching her face closely. "I was planning on giving you a tour of the opera house after your audition; I had...permission to do so, but you departed before I could speak with you further."

She felt disappointment at missing the tour with him. "I wish you would have said something this morning when you were, um...literally in my head." She smiled at him, glad his mood had lightened a bit. "You could have asked me then...after all, you said quite a lot in front of Mr. Reyer. He's convinced now that I'm a candidate for Bedlam."

Her teacher shook his head. "Don't worry about him, Christine. Most opera divas come across as eccentric and a little batty...you would be no different."

"Oh, _that_ makes me feel so much better!" she retorted.

He had to smile. "Are you going to the opera house tomorrow to see who's made the list? And if you are...would you be interested in a tour then?"

"Yes, Erik...I would."

"Excellent. I think you'll like what you see."

"The Grand Foyer is magnificent! I especially love the masks and the Goddess muses! The owner must be very proud."

He gave her a searching look. "Yes. He is. And now, since we've wasted so much time...how would it be if we curtail this evening's lesson...just this once mind, and have a cup of tea?"

She gave him a relieved smile. "I'd like that very much. And it will give you the chance to get some of that peach cobbler your new _friend_, Madame Jules sent you...before Nadir eats all of it."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

She stood looking at her name on the paper fastened to the wall backstage, finding it hard to believe she'd actually been chosen; she was thrilled to be included in the cast for Figaro. She was to be Barbarina, just as her teacher had predicted. The corridor backstage had quieted down...the four others who'd been looking at the lists had gone.

"I suppose you think you're better than the rest of us now, don't you?" Becky Drake said softly behind her.

She saw that Becky had made the chorus, but she wouldn't be satisfied with that position for very long, especially since Christine had a small but choice role herself in the production.

"Where's that skinny wall flower friend of yours today, Christine?"

She turned around and faced the Drake girl. "Why are your knickers always in a twist, Becky? You really should keep your mouth closed more often. Perhaps save your breath for singing?"

Becky's Cupid's bow lips turned up in a smile never reaching her pale eyes. "Maybe _you_ could tell me your secret to skipping the chorus and getting a much better part? Would I have to be..._very nice_, to oh...Mr. Reyer, or perhaps Mr. Sorelli...on my back? You were the one last summer just dying to see what those boys looked like without their clothes. You liked it so well you wanted to see more..."

The slap echoed in the quiet corridor backstage, and Becky put a hand over the imprint of Christine's fingers on her cheek, her eyes filling with angry tears.

"Be careful what you say, Becky. Your bitchiness is showing." Christine watched as the other girl's hand came up to hit her back. "I wouldn't," she warned, her blue eyes sparking dangerously, and the other girl lowered her hand and simply glared at her.

She left Becky standing there fuming, and walked quickly to the entrance of the auditorium where she was to meet Erik, forcing herself to calm down. Becky Drake was becoming a problem just like the awful itching rash from poison ivy when she was twelve...painful and seemingly around forever. She wasn't sure which was the worst...the poison ivy or Becky. She stood in front of Diana the Huntress, enchanted by the graceful lines and curves of the sculpture, her face still flushed from the fight.

"She reminds me of you, Christine. Youth, beauty and strength all rolled into one." her teacher said behind her.

She turned and found him regarding her quietly, wearing his customary dark hat and cloak...she hadn't heard him approaching. Lucifer would do well to take lessons from Erik in stealth. There was no one else around; rehearsals wouldn't start until Monday and most had left the building after seeing the lists. She looked up at him, noting the absence of the black mask and the hat pulled low over his eyes, casting the paleness of his face in deep shadow. She hadn't noticed before; there was a mustache...a rather scraggly one at that, perched below the long thin nose that glimmered whitely in the shade from his hat. She was so happy about her part as Barbarina, that in her excitement she nearly gave him a hug, but she caught herself in time...she didn't think he'd appreciate it from her, and hugging a man who wasn't a close family relative was frowned upon...her aunt had drummed _that_ into her head many times.

"I made it, Maestro...I'm to be Barbarina! Just as you said. Isn't it wonderful?" She was smiling ear to ear, the unpleasantness with Becky Drake put behind her...for now.

"Indeed. You'll have to work particulary hard, Christine, but I know you're up for the task. Now what about that tour?"

She nodded eagerly and followed him down the corridor. He led her all over the opera house, showing her much of the backstage area, where she was fascinated by the large prop room, smelling of sawdust and turpentine, holding some of the scenery to be used in her very first opera. He took her to the receiving rooms where the wealthy and important could mingle with members of the productions, and showed her the dressing rooms large and small which would soon be filled with the chatter and noise of a full-fledged opera company. Over all were the smells of fresh plaster and paint, the many rooms were clean and bright...only awaiting people to give the building a new life and purpose. Many of the larger dressing rooms were papered in beautiful florals, and the receiving rooms were opulent with gilt trim and red velvet upholstery. And _she_ was to be a part of it!

To Christine, it was magic. She was enthralled by it all and didn't stop to think why she felt so comfortable in her teacher's presence...it wasn't often she felt that way, but she was enjoying his company today, and as a tour guide, Erik had no peer. Finally they returned to where they'd begun...in the Grand Hallway in front of Diana.

He turned to her, his eyes thoughtful. "You seem to have an enemy already at the opera, Christine. Why is that?"

His question was unexpected and abrupt. She looked at the toes of her shoes peeping out from underneath the skirt of her two-piece walking suit. She was wearing a full button jacket with a matching skirt of tiny purple, blue and yellow flowers, trimmed in white lace. It was new and made her feel very grown-up and every inch the lady, but now she felt only shame at fighting backstage like some common hoyden _and_ being caught at it by her teacher.

She should have been surprised that he knew about Becky...she could have denied it, but he would consider that false...he'd been watching _and_ listening it seemed. Erik must be very good friends with the owner of the theatre to come and go as he wished.

She sighed. "Becky has always been a thorn in my side, but it's been worse since the storm last October. We...we had words and she's been upset with me ever since. S-She said some things to me this afternoon that I couldn't let go very easily."

She fingered the fringe on her shawl and looked up at him.

He nodded. "She's a termagant and a little too strident. If she's not careful, she may find herself without an opera...she's only just adequate for the chorus." he said shortly.

"Well, I guess that will be up to the management, won't it? But she doesn't worry me, Erik. Becky is just being, well...Becky." She sighed in resignation. "She's always been competetive with me for some reason, but I don't take her seriously...her parents have always given her whatever she wants."

He shook his head emphatically. "No. You didn't see her face when you walked away from her, Christine. She despises you. I don't trust her...she bears some watching, I think." He quickly changed the subject. "May I accompany you home?"

She smiled at him surprised. "Yes, of course." But as they walked, she couldn't help but wonder why he'd been following her so closely inside the opera house. She finally let it go, realizing one thing...her teacher wasn't necessarily like other men, so their actions didn't apply to him. Erik was nearly a law unto himself.

He didn't go out the front doors, instead leading her to the back of the building through a series of corridors they'd only recently traveled. At last they came to a door at the end of the hall, which opened onto a wide alley just off of Francis St. On either side of the door were small storage rooms, holding mostly cleaning supplies. They left the building together, the setting sun painting the sky the palest of peach, pink and blue...the early evening air soft and mild. He took her by the elbow and led her to a shiny black buggy with bright red, spoke wheels, and a dapple gray gelding hitched to it.

She turned to him in excitement. "Why...he's beautiful, Erik! And the buggy is much nicer than the one Mrs. Sorelli just got from St. Louis...it came upriver on a flatboat, you know."

He said nothing to that, but helped her up, then got in beside her and took hold of the reins...and handed them to her. She stared at them a moment, then looked up at him in confusion. "You want _me_ to drive him?" she said in disbelief.

He sat back against the seat and folded his arms across his chest. "Yes...today and any other day you need transportation to town, Christine. He is for your use...I have no need for a horse and buggy. _You_ however, need to be here everyday for rehearsal."

She looked at him frowning, a crease marring her delicate brow. "But Erik. I can't accept this from you. And my aunt. What will _she_ say?" She tried to hand the reins back to her teacher, but he ignored her attempts.

He sighed and looked at her patiently, which was unusual for him. "It's not a gift, child. The horse and rig belong to me. Daroga or myself will hitch him up for you whenever you require it. Your aunt can't object to your _borrowing_ the buggy, now can she? You only need to make sure of a few things. Be on time to your rehearsals here at the theatre, and of course your lessons with me. And one thing more that must be agreed to with no deviation."

Her teacher paused, and Christine felt uneasy looking at him. It may have been a trick of the light, but she couldn't see his eyes... "You may drive Madame Jules, her daughter, or your aunt at any time with impunity. However," his voice hardened and the harsh taskmaster she was used to returned... "de Chagny must never be in this buggy with you. It will not be tolerated, Christine.

"Do you understand me?"

She was of a mind to tell him to take his horse and buggy with him to Hades and enjoy the journey, but couldn't quite make the words leave her mouth. She knew that telling her maestro such a thing would be dangerous...besides, she wanted to have the gray gelding for her own use more than anything, so she nodded her agreement to his terms.

He gestured with one long finger at the reins in her hands. "You've handled a horse and buggy, no? He's well broke and very reliable...you two should get along very well."

Christine looked admiringly at the gelding...at his muscular neck and sturdy legs, still uncertain about the arrangement, but eager to drive the handsome animal. "Where has he been hiding? He's a beauty!"

"I've had him _and_ the buggy for a while, but I'm afraid he doesn't have a name yet...perhaps _you_ can help me with that."

"Name him? I'd love to! Well, let me see..." She was silent for a minute or so, index finger to her full bottom lip, then gave him a triumphant grin. "I have it!"

She pondered the name while studying the gelding, and said with a twinkle in her eyes. "Figaro." She turned and looked at Erik. "Does it meet with your approval?"

He looked down at her and nodded. "Figaro it is." he agreed, then jerked his chin at the reins in her small hands. "He's all yours. Take us home."

Excited and a little fearful, she shook out the reins and clicked her tongue loud enough for the newly christened Figaro to hear, and the gelding started forward at a walk. She flapped the reins again and spoke to the animal. "Fly home, Figaro. Fly us home!" and he broke into a smooth trot.

He watched her closely, satisfied she could handle the horse. He was young, but Erik had worked extensively with him, making certain he would behave for her. Christine laughed out of sheer delight, looking up at her teacher with a radiant smile, some of her blonde curls escaping from beneath her hat as they took off up the street for home.

Becky watched from the milliner's window across from the opera house as the buggy with the Daae girl driving it, took off smartly up Francis St. Her hand went to her cheek again, wondering about Christine's gentleman friend. They had looked quite cozy together, and perhaps she'd been closer to the truth than she'd realized...Christine seemed to have a wealthy patron already...she just had to find out the identity of the tall, thin man. It would take time, but she could be very patient. Yes indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

The burly man stood with cloth cap in one meaty fist in front of Sorelli's desk. With him was Burt Barton, the affable, red-haired stage manager.

"I found him wandering around backstage a little while ago, Mr. Sorelli. Says he needs a job."

Sam leaned back in his chair and observed the man. "Any theatre experience, Buquet? You look familiar to me, although I can't say where I've seen you before. Ever work at the Portage in Wathena?"

Buquet twisted the cap in his beefy fingers. "I've worked at several in these parts...sir, but not there. I'm mostly used as a flyman, but I kin do carpentry work and scene shiftin' too."

Sorelli continued his contemplation of the man, noting the red nose and network of broken blood vessels across his cheeks...he liked his liquor a little too much. Buquet's face was florid and heavy, holding a look of dissolution, and his eyes were small and mean. His tone of voice was trying to convey polite deference, but Samuel suspected that was just an act.

He sighed knowing he didn't have a lot of choices here...he needed able bodied men to work the stage. Erik was pushing everyone harder as each day went by, including himself, and Heaven knew he could always use another pair of experienced hands.

He looked at Barton and sighed. "All right, Burt. Take him to the back and put him to work where you need him."

Sorelli eyed his newest employee once more. "You're on probation for one month, Buquet. We'll see how you work out. The owner pays a good wage, but expects a pound of flesh in return."

He picked up his pen, and began writing again in the ledger on his desk, signifying they were through, and with a bob of his head, Buquet walked out the door after the stage manager. Samuel was always trying to catch up on his paperwork and Erik never made it easy for him. The opera's opening night was in one week come hell or high water, and he rather thought it would have more to do with the former. The blocking had already been done onstage, and a dress rehearsal would take place in a few days. Figaro was slowly pulling together, with the company gradually working in tandem to accomplish it. At times as he watched bits of rehearsals, he looked past the chaos and large egos of stage people which abounded, and could see the professionalism emerging.

Reyer was doing a very good job with the diverse group, and aside from the complaints and sudden problems he was assaulted with each and every day, he was satisfied that they would be ready.

His boss was an anomaly though, he had to admit to himself. When he'd first met him, Erik had intimated that he'd be absent quite a bit, leaving Nadir to deal with the business of the opera house. But as it so happened, he rarely missed a day, even going so far as to stay over on the weekends and work on set pieces. If Samuel went looking for him, more often than not, he would find him in the prop room wielding a saw or a hammer and nails. And he was perfectly capable to do so. Nadir had confided to him that Erik had designed the onyx masks set into the floor of the foyer, and that most of the renovations had been from his ideas. His respect for the brooding man had risen another notch.

He looked just as rough as any stagehand in his corduroy trousers, linen shirt and moleskin waistcoat, a cloth workman's cap pulled low over his face, but his boss was a man of many talents...and just as mysterious to him now as he was last November.

Of course the mask had a lot to do with that. The first time he'd seen it, it had been an unpleasant surprise. The question of why he was wearing it was never addressed; Erik had simply stared him down, almost daring him to make a comment, and wisely Samuel hadn't. But it didn't stop him from wondering what lay beneath it. He was quite sure that Erik hadn't been maimed in battle...although it was difficult to guess his age, he rather thought he was too young to have fought in the war. He gradually got used to seeing the black mask though, and occasionally after a long day, Erik would get out the bottle of aged scotch and pour them each a drink.

He was an intelligent man and could be surprisingly easy to talk with...he was well traveled...had roamed over a good portion of the U.S., plus much of Europe from the bits of information Sorelli had gleaned from him. He knew horses, was very knowledgeable with firearms, and was comfortable around theatres and music.

Samuel thought he was also very familiar with violence.

Not that he'd ever seen him actually harming anyone, but he was pretty certain the potential was there. Sometimes Erik would give him a look as cold as winter ice, and Sorelli knew just by looking in those disturbing eyes, that he'd caused the death of more than one man in his lifetime. He himself had fought in the war and been forced to kill; he was no stranger to that look, but those days were long past for Samuel, and he only revisited them now in nightmares. But Erik was different in that respect...Samuel looked into _his _eyes and knew for a fact, that it wouldn't take much for the man to calmly and deliberately assist someone to stop breathing. Sorelli would drop his eyes from Erik's at times like that and pray that the predatory stare would be gone when next he looked at his boss. And in all probability it was.

He rose to his feet and stretched tiredly. Time to sit in on rehearsal for a while and then he would go backstage and make certain the costumers had received the fabrics they'd ordered; it was really up to Burt to make sure of that, but as the saying went...two heads were indeed better than one. Especially when one is working for a man like Erik. He made his way into the auditorium and took a seat toward the middle of the theatre. They were working on Act IV of the opera, and Christine Daae had begun her aria as Barbarina. Samuel had to admit...she had a lovely voice, and for one so young, she was coming along very well. She stood on her mark, a pretty girl with a slender build, and Erik he'd noticed, would often pause and watch when the little Daae was onstage. He always kept well back out of sight of the company, keeping mostly to the shadows and well away from the stage, but there was already talk about a specter haunting the opera house.

A chorus girl had been in one of the corridors backstage a few weeks ago and nearly run into Erik. He had quickly disappeared as only he could manage, but the damage had already been done. The girl claimed it to be the spirit of the unfortunate stagehand killed in the fire. Now the superstitious company members were seeing ghosts everywhere, and Samuel thought privately, that Erik should just introduce himself to the cast as the legitimate owner and be done with it, but it was entirely _his_ call. Of course he realized, every theatre was purported to have ghosts, and this one was no different. Let them have their fun, he thought...as long as it didn't get out of hand.

He studied Christine Daae again. After her audition for Figaro, Erik had refused to look at any other singer for the role of Barbarina. It was to be Christine and no other, and Sorelli had to admit she was doing a fine job so far, as he listened to her clear high tones. The very day of her audition, his boss had sent him out to talk with Reyer and move the girl up in the lists. He had obeyed with no questions as to why...he had simply done it. But he frowned when he thought of what he'd witnessed not so long after rehearsals for the opera had begun. The young woman had a horse and buggy at her disposal, and everyday she would go out to the alley in back and drive away, usually alone. Occasionally the Giry girl would be with her, but more often than not, it was just Christine; on one cloudy afternoon though, he'd watched her leaving with the thin dark form of his boss seated in the buggy with her. It startled him to see the two of them side by side; Christine so pretty and bright with her pink and gold coloring, contrasting so sharply against the shadowy and ominous looks of Erik. They were like day and night together, he thought, scratching his head.

She was speaking to him as he drove past Samuel, who was standing at the window overlooking Francis St. Christine was smiling up at him and speaking animatedly...Erik had his head tilted down toward her listening very closely. They were fairly well acquainted it seemed, and to Sorelli, it was a little unsettling. Erik had never acted anything like a skirt-chaser; always a solitary figure with the exception of Nadir Khan. His manners were always exemplary, but the Daae girl was young and attractive, and his boss's eyes stayed focused on her a little too long sometimes during practice for Samuel's peace of mind. He sighed heavily. He would be loath to ever cross Erik...that could be a disaster, but he would watch the young woman when he could for any sign of distress. He couldn't say he _liked_ his boss all that much, but he did have a good deal of respect for him...he just wasn't sure of Erik's proclivities concerning the fairer sex. Toward Christine though, he'd caught a look in those oddly colored eyes of something approaching hunger, as if the Daae girl was no more than a tasty morsel to eat. If he was thinking of bedding Christine at any time in the future and her being coerced into it, then Samuel would have to swallow his fright and step in. After all, Edna Stone was a friend of his wife Muriel and he could do no less. The cast was taking a short break now, and wearily he got to his feet and headed backstage to the costumers' room.

_ XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

"Max is watching you again, Christine." Carlotta said as she laughed and pointed at the curly haired tenor portraying Don Basilio. He turned quickly away when both women looked in his direction.

Christine blushed and smiled at the young soprano. "No more than he looks at you, I think." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and looked toward the three laughing chorus girls in the front seats. They'd been whispering and giggling among themselves, with an occasional glance in her direction since she'd sat down with Carlotta. The one in the middle was Becky, and Christine felt pretty sure that the whispers and laughter were directed at her.

Carlotta nodded at the three. "They're a lot like magpies, aren't they? But that one in the middle is a troublemaker, I think. Why does she dislike you so much, I wonder?"

Christine shrugged. "I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth, but I think she resents me for playing Barbarina." She looked at the stage and Mr. Reyer's return. Their break was almost over. "Becky thinks I got the part by being nice to...uh," she cleared her throat self-consciously, "being too friendly with the management." She flashed a look at Carlotta, then laughed a little, embarrassed.

"Aw, don't pay her any mind, Christine. She's probably jealous that she doesn't sound anywhere near as good as you do. Come on...back to work." she laughed, and pulled the other girl to her feet. Christine clutched her libretto in one hand and let herself be tugged into the aisle.

She cast one more look Becky's way, then followed Carlotta onstage where rehearsal continued into the afternoon.

_ XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She had crested the hill overlooking town, and as Figaro was so eager, she put him into a trot. It was a warm spring day, and she was relieved to be free of the opera house and able to enjoy the nice weather. She had done some errands for Hannah and bought the Gazette...she would probably be reading the latest chapter of Phantom Trails to the housekeeper as she prepared dinner. The last one had been a real cliffhanger, with the Phantom surrounded by the Harker gang...train robbers who were no more than vicious, cold blooded killers. He had trailed them to their hideout in Kansas, near Salina and a gunfight had ensued. As the chapter concluded, the bounty hunter had been ringed by the murderous outlaws, and there didn't seem to be a way out for him.

She saw a familiar figure ahead of her, leading a sorrel gelding, and she brought Figaro to a stop as she came abreast of him. "Raoul," she laughed. "You're supposed to ride him, not pull him along!"

He turned and looked at her, his mood brightening considerably, then with a look of disgust, he nodded at his horse. "He threw a shoe back a ways. I'm headed to the smithy's."

She knew the polite thing would be to offer him a ride back toward town, but Erik had made it very clear that Raoul was not permitted in the buggy, and since the rig didn't belong to her she had to abide by his wishes. But she didn't have to like it. She fidgeted with the reins, while Raoul looked at her, expecting an invitation to climb in, and when she said nothing, his face showed his disappointment.

So she made her excuses. She pointed to the packages on the seat beside her. "I have to get these things home to Hannah, Raoul. I'm sorry, but it can't wait, I'm afraid."

He smiled anyway and gestured to Figaro. "He's nice. Your aunt replace the mare?"

Christine took her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. "Ah no, h-he's not my aunt's...my neighbor lets me borrow him on occasion." She hurriedly changed the subject. "Gosh. Would you look at the time! I hate to leave you like this...really I do. Goodbye, Raoul."

Before she could put the buggy in motion though, he stopped her again. "Listen, Christine. There's a dance at the Humboldt school on Saturday evening. Would you like to go?

"With me?" he added, looking at her hopefully.

She had known about the dance, because Meg had talked of nothing else for an entire week, and Christine had been hoping he would ask her to go with him. She nodded eagerly. "Yes. I'd like that very much."

But she could only hope that Erik wouldn't be spying on her Saturday night when Raoul stopped in front of her house. If he was, she need only point out to him that no lessons had been involved, therefore, no harm had been done. Yes. That's what she'd say to him! He had no right to manage _any_ of her life outside of her lessons. But that was much easier said than done, she thought glumly.

"Good. I'll be at your house by seven." he said, as he led his horse back to town in a much better frame of mind.

She got the gray gelding moving again, happy and excited about her first dance with a beau. At last things were looking up; after grueling rehearsals and lessons with Erik, it would be nice spending time with Raoul. She would wear her blue silk dress...it brought out the color of her eyes. She felt a little guilty...Meg had been excited about the dance for days, and now that Christine had been asked, she could only hope that her friend was invited by someone as well.

She went along at a steady trot under the leafy canopy of trees overhanging the road, then passed out of the cool shade and into the warm sunshine once more. Her thoughts revolved around to her teacher, as they nearly always did eventually. He had accompanied her home twice now since he'd given her the loan of Figaro. One overcast day, he'd joined her in the alley after rehearsal, leading his mare over to the buggy and tying her on the back, then he proceeded to raise the folding hood into place over the seat.

He nodded at the lowering clouds, then helped her into the buggy."We'll probably see rain before home...you don't mind if I try to stay dry, do you?"

She gave him a nervous smile. "Why, of course not! After all, Maestro, it's your buggy." She moved her skirts out of his way and he climbed in beside her. "It will give me a chance to get your opinion of today's practice."

The ride home hadn't been all that bad, and Christine was oddly pleased, when she even managed to pry a chuckle out of Erik when she mentioned Mr. Reyer's displeasure with the chorus. They had lacked any kind of cohesion that day and had been for the most part flat and dull. He'd been pulling at his hair so much out of sheer frustration, that it finally stood on end in two gray spikes, resembling to her amusement the horns of a billy goat.

Her teacher held the reins loosely in his large hands...he was leaning forward, elbows braced on his long black-clad thighs, while Christine told him about practice. "Any trouble from the Drake girl lately?" He didn't look at her, instead keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them.

She really didn't want to discuss Becky with him. The day was too nice to spoil; besides...aside from some stares and rude laughter, there had been nothing. "No, Erik. Everything has been fine. Don't worry."

He glanced down at her for so long, she started to squirm a bit. Finally he turned away, focusing on the gray sky instead, and said nothing.

The first drops of rain tapped the hood above their heads, and before many minutes had gone by, it had become a steady downpour. It felt curiously intimate to her...the two of them side by side, nearly touching, the rain almost seeming to isolate them from the rest of the world.

She looked at the steaming wet flanks of Figaro, then her gaze settled on her teacher's thin capable hands. She had never seen such long fingers on a man; she was fascinated by them and yet repulsed at the very same time. Her eyes left his hands and traveled to his face...or what she could see of it, shaded as it was by his hat. It wasn't the black mask that day, but the other _face _that he wore...the one with the straggly mustache, the features pale, almost translucent. And she had wondered for the hundredth time, the reason for hiding his face so diligently.

Then, just yesterday, he'd accompanied her home, overtaking her on Moriah, cantering up beside the buggy and keeping pace with Figaro, who had slowed to a walk. The mare had tossed her head wanting to run and she'd pulled on the bit, but Erik easily reined her in, and sidestepping a bit, she'd finally settled down and become docile. Both times he'd joined her, had been quiet, almost friendly, and Christine would sometimes catch herself, briefly forgetting that they were teacher and student. She had marveled that this was the same man who could lash out so suddenly at her for not focusing on a particular measure during lessons.

She reached home at last, and turned in the Archer drive. Christine waved at Nadir and Hannah who were standing near the border of the two properties talking. She drove Figaro through the open doors of the carriage house and pulled him to a stop. She had begun to unharness him, when the Persian appeared.

"Erik will have my head on a platter if I let you unhitch that gelding."

She had to smile at that. "Who does he think harnessed Nellie all those times?" She snorted in amusement. "Certainly not my aunt. We used to have a driver...he lived above the carriage house, but one day about three years ago, he nearly put us in a ditch after church one Sunday. He'd been drinking heavily the night before and wasn't feeling very well." She shook her head remembering how incensed her aunt had been. "She got rid of the barouche, and got the smaller buggy, and ever since then, she has insisted on driving herself."

He took over from her and good naturedly shooed her away. "All the same, Hannah is waiting for you, young woman. You'd better have the latest chapter on that oh-so-courageous, tough-as-leather, one-man posse. I suggest you get over there before she expires from curiosity."

Christine laughed and grabbed her things, then hesitated. "Nadir? I want to get Erik a present. He's spent so much time teaching me...a-and he's never wanted any payment. I'd like to show my appreciation for all of his hard work."

Nadir had grabbed a curry brush and was working it over Figaro's back and sides, the gelding's hide rippling with pleasure.

"Why...he enjoys teaching you, child. Believe me, he does." he said quietly.

She nodded and shifted her packages. "But I _want _to do this for him. I have just the thing in mind, but you can help me with the color. What's his favorite?"

He looked at her large cornflower eyes, and with no hesitation said, "Blue."

"Blue?" She shook her head. I'd never have picked that color as his favorite...black, yes."

He stopped brushing for a moment and looked at her, smiling faintly. "Trust me, Christine. It's blue."

He finished the grooming and led the gelding into his stall and removed the halter, then left, closing the half-door behind him. Christine gathered her parcels, and saying goodbye to him, crossed over to her yard. She walked into the kitchen amid the wonderful smells of Hannah's chicken and dumplings cooking on the stove. The housekeeper turned to the young woman and held out her hand, and Christine placed the package of cheesecloth in it. Hannah shook her head impatiently and gestured to Christine's other hand.

"None of that now. You know what I want, missy, so hand it over."

Christine laughed and gave her the paper, then went over to the stove and lifted the lid on the simmering chicken and rich gravy. "Mmm...I'm starved! That smells wonderful, Hannah. Rehearsal went on forever and I only had some cheese and an apple for lunch."

She turned to look at the housekeeper who was going through the pages of the newspaper quickly and scanning each one closely. At last she held it out to Christine in obvious irritation."I declare! The one chapter I've been dying to read...and it's not here!"

"What?" Christine took it from her and did her own hasty search, finding nothing. "But, I don't understand. It's far from over and it left off in a bad place." She went over to the red stool and sat down, all of a sudden in a glum mood.

Hannah shook her head and went back to the stove. "I don't know, child. The way we carry on, a body would think he's a real man, this Phantom."

Christine raised her head and frowned. "He _is_ real, Hannah. H.T. Poman said so."

Hannah went to the tall wooden cupboard and took down a jar of the green beans she had canned last year. "Christine, that man has made money off of a fictional character, and telling folks it's real keeps them coming back for more. Enjoy it for what it is...an exciting adventure story, and leave it at that. Now go on in the parlor...your aunt wants to speak with you."

She wasn't about to argue with Hannah, for she knew that the Phantom was a flesh and blood man. No one could tell her otherwise.

She went into the parlor and greeted Aunt Edna who was seated in one of the brocade slipper chairs, leafing through her ladies journal. She glanced up when her niece entered the room, eying her over the rims of her spectacles. Often she reminded Christine of nothing more than a large barn owl, and at times she almost expected her to hoot. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

Edna put down the magazine and looked at her niece expectantly. "How was your rehearsal for Figaro today?" she said in a neutral tone.

Christine sat down in the other chair and leaned her head back. "It could have been better...but I think everyone is starting to get the jitters. Opening night isn't far away, after all."

Her aunt was normally very interested in the doings at the opera...she was delighted with Christine's role in the upcoming production, and full of gratitude for Erik's instruction, but today something was bothering her. She fussed with the lace edged antimacassar on her chair, then faced her niece.

She hesitated a moment more, then took a deep breath. "There's been talk about the amount of time you've been spending in Mr. Archer's company, Christine. You were seen at the opera house alone with him, and Martha Drake told me that he seemed awfully familiar with you." Edna waited for her niece to deny it, and when she didn't, her lips thinned even more.

"It _is_ Mr. Archer, isn't it? I realize the favor he did you by insisting you have the use of the buggy...however, I wasn't aware that meant he would be using it at the same time. It looks quite suggestive for you to be seen with him as often as you are."

Christine looked calmly back at her aunt, but inside she was seething. The Drakes. Again.

"It's not been all that much, aunt. Becky is the source of gossip and we've been on the outs for quite a while now. _She_ would like nothing better than to spread her poison around and have everyone thinking the worst. Er-Mr. Archer has been nothing but a gentleman since he began teaching me and we've nothing to hide."

Her aunt looked slightly mollified. "Aside from his startling appearance, that's exactly what _I_ thought...he's a gentleman. Ha! A rather strange one, to be sure, but a gentleman all the same."

She folded her hands primly in her lap and eyed her niece with a grim resolve. "But...I don't want you seen all that much in his company. We have your reputation to protect, you understand. He's much older than you, dear and some people around here think I've given you too much liberty as it is."

Christine got to her feet and went over to the fireplace. She turned and faced her aunt. "Does anyone know who he is? He's wanted to stay out of the limelight...he won't like this at all. And what about my lessons? Am I to stop them?"

Her exasperation was growing in leaps and bounds, and she would have loved to have Becky Drake standing in front of her at this very moment.

The more she thought about that viper and her harridan of a mother, the angrier she became. They had done nothing wrong, and her teacher had never made any type of unwanted advances toward her...the very idea of any romantic interest on his part was ludicrous.

"No, they don't know his identity, and I told her nothing...which is just what Mr. Archer himself insisted on. And your lessons must continue, Christine." her aunt said emphatically. "With Mr. Kahn and Mrs. Cole present, the proprieties are being observed, I'm sure...just be careful with how many times you're seen together."

She felt Aunt Edna was being a shade hypocritical, but dared not say anything. She resented the fact that something as innocent as a shared buggy ride was considered questionable behavior.

"But I can't tell Mr. Archer he's not allowed in his own buggy!" Not without her hands placed firmly over her ears, she thought wryly, with a little shiver of apprehension.

Edna had risen to her feet and sighed. "Then you'll just have to stop using it." She softened her tone a bit. "I know, child. It's sometimes difficult to live in a judgmental world...especially having to deal with the likes of Martha Drake and her ilk. Now...I have some letters to finish before dinner."

She left the room in a rustle of maroon taffeta, leaving Christine wondering glumly what to say to Erik about the buggy. She nearly cursed thinking of the Drakes and their vicious wagging tongues. The conversation with her aunt had caused her to forget about the dance on Saturday...her earlier enthusiasm had dimmed somewhat after their conversation, but she'd tell her all about it at dinner.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Her steps were unhurried as she walked to the Archer house for her lesson that evening. She wanted to see Nadir again about the gift she was buying for her teacher, and she was arriving early for that reason. She'd found a silver stick pin with a small sapphire in the Montgomery Ward catalog that she could just manage to buy for him, but she wanted to make certain it was the right choice before ordering...it would be close to a month or better before it arrived on the train. Mrs. Cole answered the door and directed her to the library.

"He said he had a lot of paperwork to finish. I believe that's where he went." The housekeeper was putting dishes away in the cupboard and turned from her task.

Christine held up a hand. "I can find my way, Mrs. Cole. You don't have to stop what you're doing just for me."

"That's fine. You go on then. Lord knows most of these dishes are clean anyway. That man lives mostly on air...the cat eats more than he does! No wonder he practically disappears standing sideways!"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cole?" she said innocently.

The housekeeper stopped her mutterings and picked up a soup tureen. "Nothing, dearie. You go on...Mr. Nadir should be in the library."

Christine swallowed a laugh, knowing how volatile Mrs. Cole's relationship could be with Erik...and Lucifer. She walked through the silent house, and when she arrived at the library doors, she knocked lightly. "Nadir?" she called out. She tapped again, but it remained closed to her.

With only a little hesitation, she turned the knob and went inside. To an empty room. She glanced toward the fireplace where a small fire had been lit. With a start she heard the sound of papers fluttering to the floor, and looking for the source of the noise, she spied Lucifer sitting on the edge of Erik's desk washing one tiny, black paw. He glanced lazily in her direction as she approached him.

"Bad kitty, Lucifer! What are you doing in here? Just look at the mess you've made!" she scolded him.

With a yellow eyed glare reminiscent of her maestro, he jumped gracefully off the desk and stalked off, tail held high, leaving the drift of papers behind for her to deal with.

She looked irritably at the kitten. "He named you well, you little devil."

She crouched down and started gathering the white sheets of paper carefully, pausing to shuffle them together, noting the scrawled lines on the top of the page. It was Erik's rather sloppy handwriting in the red ink he favored. But as she worked, a name jumped out at her. A name and a chapter heading...

Her heart started to pound, and her eyes widened at what she was reading, wondering how this could be possible, as without any shame, but only a growing certainty, she read more of what she was holding in her hands. It was a chapter of Phantom Trails, handwritten on a thick stack of creamy white paper. But how...?

She turned her head when she heard a sound near the library doors...where her teacher stood, head lowered and regarding her in a way that left her dry mouthed in fear.

"Find what you're looking for?" His voice held that silky tone that always caused an excited quiver in her stomach, but now there was something else there as well...something dark...dangerous.

With a tiny squeak of dismay, she rocked back on her heels and sat down hard on her rump as he slowly walked toward her.


	11. Chapter 11

She fought down the panic that was threatening to steal her breath, and holding on to the papers, she scooted backward as once again she found herself watching the approach of a dark fury with fey eyes. She knew she was innocent of any wrong doing, but felt as though she'd been caught red handed. She _had_ read some of what she'd been holding, but that was purely an accident. Wasn't it? Christine whimpered as he reached her, and bending down, he grasped her by the elbows with his icy hands, and lifted her as if she was nothing more than a bag of laundry. She cried out in fear and pain as his grip pinched the tender flesh of her arms.

"How dare you enter this room without my leave to do so!" he said through clenched teeth.

"N-No, Erik...it's not what you th-think. I came looking for Nadir, and he wasn't here, but Lucifer was, a-and he knocked your p-papers on the floor! I promise not to tell anyone!" she said wildly, hoping desperately that Nadir would return soon.

He held on to her and glanced quickly round. "I see no _cat _in here." He turned his fearsome eyes back on her. "What do you promise not to tell, Chrisstine?" he hissed softly. She had always been secretly charmed by the way he said her name...no one said it quite the way he did. He dragged out the S slightly longer than normal, but now it wasn't charming at all...it was an angry sibilance.

She was afraid to meet his eyes, but forced herself to look at him, realizing that her need to hear the truth would cause her to say something she just might regret, but knowing she was going to ask it anyway. She cursed the curiosity that nearly always got her into trouble.

She cringed at his anger; this close to him, she could see the minute shading of his eyes from yellow to a warmer amber ringed around his pupils, and the black fringe of his eyelashes. A few unruly locks of his usually neat hair lay on his forehead over the mask. It made him seem more human to her...more like a normal man...albeit, a very angry one. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek; she was held in a painful grip, but she doubted if he even realized he was hurting her.

Erik's gaze was fixed on her face, and she shuddered at the raw emotion she saw there, but said in spite of it, "You're H.T. Poman, a-aren't you?" His iron hands tightened momentarily and she bit back a groan of pain. "You're hurting me, Maestro. Please..."

He remained bent over her and she watched frightened, as his eyes took on a gleam that she'd never seen there before. His tongue flicked out to lick suddenly dry lips, and she became swallowed in that hungry gaze as he leaned down even closer and made a noise from deep in his throat. His large hands which had only moments before been wrapped too tightly around her arms, were now sliding slowly up to her shoulders, his breathing becoming fast and heavy. Just when she lost hope that he would come to his senses, he cursed, releasing her suddenly and she stumbled backward, nearly falling.

He heaved a breath, seemingly at a loss for words, and Christine eyed him warily as she rubbed her sore arms. Gone was the controlled and confident man she'd known from the beginning, and in his place was one not used to showing any emotion at all, except perhaps anger. He was perfectly fine showing _that_. In a sudden flash of wisdom, she knew the reason for the anger and sarcasm he used so unfailingly with her. It was his protection against hurt; _he_ would be the aggressor at all times and never leave himself open to an emotional attack of any kind. But now, she could clearly see his struggle to regain himself. She realized her teacher wore more than one mask, and was anything but comfortable revealing even small glimpses of the real man to anyone...even to her.

She turned and set the papers on the desk, then shook out her skirts, trying to get her shaking limbs under control and stop the tears that were threatening to fall. All the while he regarded her and remained silent, still breathing heavily.

She only wanted to leave...she had no desire to remain for a lesson now. "I'm going home." she said quietly, as she walked toward the door on rubbery legs.

"Christine." he whispered. "Don't go." His hands which had hung loosely at his sides, curled into fists. "The answer to your question is...yes."

The truth still had the power to shock her. To think that Erik was the author of Phantom Trails and had been living beside them all these months. _Teaching _her all these months.

She nodded and stood there, her knees knocking, not at all sure what to do.

He put a hand out toward her, then just as quickly, snatched it back. "I'm so sorry I was unkind to you. Did I hurt you, child?"

She shook her head, knowing he'd frightened her more than anything else, but still refusing to look at him.

"My...privacy is important to me." He sighed wearily and walked over to his desk, where he straightened the papers he'd caught Christine reading. She watched him warily as he looked at her again with haunted eyes."There was a time in my life when I had absolutely none, so perhaps I treasure it far too much now."

He approached her hesitantly, almost shyly and she remained still. He made no move to touch her, but his eyes were so intense, their affect on her was nearly physical.

"I ask you once again to forgive me for my unseemly anger toward you and...and stay, Christine."

She had the feeling that apologizing for boorish behavior was an entirely new experience for her teacher . Her fear of him was still there, but lessening...she was becoming used to his erratic behavior, and she wasn't sure if that was such a good thing. But in spite of her reservations, she looked up at him, twisting the fringe of her shawl nervously between her hands.

"I forgive you." she said softly. "And I'll stay."

He let out a pent-up breath, and with a slight bow, he gestured for her to precede him, and together they went upstairs. She glanced quickly at him as they walked up the steps, relieved that he seemed less tense. She recalled the strange look in his eyes as he'd held her and she shivered, resolutely putting the memory away until later. He said nothing more until they reached the tower room, and taking her shawl from her, draped it over a chair.

"Sit down." Then as if catching himself, he added a gruff, "Please." She sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair, wondering what would happen next. Her teacher however, remained on his feet, his restlessness causing him to pace the floor. Finally he stopped walking and looked at her with a faint smile. "It goes without saying it, but...everything revealed in this room goes no further. Agreed?"

"You have my word, Erik." she said solemnly.

He nodded and continued walking about the room, always seeming more content that way, unless music kept him in place...to which he gave in willingly. "You...have many questions for me, no? Well...just this once, I'm willing to answer them. I think I owe you that much." He went over and sat at the piano and waited for her to speak.

She stared at him in surprise, speechless, and when she still didn't say anything, he became impatient. "Well? Weren't you the young woman so defensive of the Phantom? Thinking he only performed _good _deeds for his fellow citizens? Don't you _want_ to know the truth, child? Now is your chance," and he waved a hand in her direction.

She paused, knowing his patience would run out long before her curiosity did. "I-Is that your real name? Poman?

"No. Next question."

"Well...where did you get the name, then?"

"It's an anagram for Phantom."

She smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Blast! Why didn't I see that?" She glanced quickly at her teacher and mumbled an apology. "Forgive me, Erik. Sometimes I get a little carried away."

But the widening of his eyes was not from her cursing. "You _know _what an anagram is?"

"Of course. St. Joe is a nice town, but not exactly steeped in excitement. My family reads the serials in the Gazette voraciously, and a few years ago the paper had one on spies during the war using anagrams in their secret codes. It was wonderful!" Then she quickly went back to her next question. "Is Archer your real name? You never seemed comfortable with my calling you that."

He said nothing for a moment; looking at her thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I'm afraid you caught the Persian unawares that morning. He said the first name that came to mind...the great booby!"

She leaned forward, enjoying the feeling of sharing secrets with him. "Then what _is _your name?"

He shrugged with an elegant lift of his thin shoulders. "Erik. I was raised in an orphanage in St. Louis. They said when I arrived there, I had no identification, except for a note pinned to my blanket, giving that as my only name. There was no other."

She looked at him horrified. "But everyone needs a name! How have you managed without one?"

He made a noise she thought was a chuckle. "Actually, very well. I used the pen name, Poman for the Phantom serial and on occasion, for other things when there was a need for it, but other than that, the absence of a surname hasn't been a hardship for me."

She played with a loose thread on her dress, not meeting his eyes. "Have you met him...the Phantom?" She finally looked up at her teacher. "Hannah...well, she said he's a figment of the author's over-active imagination. I-Is he real, Erik?"

He saw the hope flare in her blue eyes and felt a hard knot loosen in his chest. "Yes, Christine. He's very much a real man."

"I knew it!" she said triumphantly. "I just knew he was...but, might I ever meet h-him, do you think?"

"Perhaps."

She sensed that he was secretly laughing at her and she was clueless as to why. "What is he like?"

He turned from her and started playing softly...he looked out the window as his fingers fiddled with the melody...adding notes and increasing the tempo; embellishing the tune until it little resembled the original piece. She could pause in these revelations from the past hour and admire his skill all over again.

"What is he like?" he repeated and continued playing pianissimo while he considered his answer. "Mm...he's a very private individual for one thing." He leaned forward, head canted to one side and listened closely to the melody beneath his sensitive fingers. "Much like myself, I suppose. He would only agree to meet me after dark, so I would be a poor judge of his physical appearance. He spoke in a rough, whispery voice, and even then, he didn't say much. He gives me the handwritten chapters in a very rough draft form, and I clean them up, put them in book form, and present them to the newspapers."

"Why did he come to you in the first place?"

He closed his eyes as he started another measure, his quick mind already playing back the new melody he'd just composed as he sat there.

"He realized that a lot of people had an interest in lurid tales of the very men he was hunting. He witnessed countless times the cheerful crowds at the public hangings; not just men...oh no, but women and children as well, wanting to watch a man's final moments on this earth, kicking and dancing at the end of a rope."

She blanched when he said it, but he was still playing softly with eyes shut. "He made money kill...uh, bringing them in to the hangman, and again from the circulation of the stories in the papers. I mail him a check once a month...the arrangement has been lucrative for us both." He remained silent until the end of the piece. "And finally...well, let's just say...a mutual friend arranged a meeting between us and leave it at that, shall we? Come now...we have time for a run-through of your aria, Christine."

"All right." She got to her feet and walked slowly over to the piano and took her position. "Erik?" She looked at him shyly. "Is he anything like I thought he was?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth about her hero with feet of clay, but one look at her hopeful face stopped him.

"Well, he may not be _quite _as bad as I made him out to be. In a way...I think you'd be pleased. Now then...may we proceed?"

She nodded her head and said with a grin, "I knew it! I'm so excited about the next chapter, Erik. When will it be out?"

He held in his impatience as best as he could with her, something he'd been trying to do for months now, and he had to admit...he needed more work.

"Next week, same time. I've been busier than usual lately, but I've already sent in the delayed chapter; it will be in the Gazette on Friday." As he spoke, an idea had taken root, and try as he might, he couldn't dislodge it.

He took his hands off the keys and turned to her. "Christine? How would you like to work for me?"

Surprised, she took a step toward the grand. "_Work _for you?"

He got up from the piano and took a turn around the room, thinking. "Yes. I normally clean up the Phantom's scribblings and put the story in a more readable form, then I have to re-copy _my _scribblings to give to the newspapers. _You_ could save me some time if you consent to doing the final copy. I would pay you of course."

Christine began to shake her head, and he hastened to say, "It was just a thought...pay it no mind. I seem to be over-stepping myself. Again." He started back to the piano. "We'll begin with some..."

"Erik! I''ll do it!" she said laughing. "But I want no payment for it. I'm making a fair wage with the opera." She hesitantly approached him until she was close enough to touch him. "Besides...I-I can never repay you for all you've done for me. I'll work for you...gladly. _And_ as an added bonus, I get to read the chapters before anyone else!"

She smiled up at him, her blue eyes beautiful in the waning light, and he had to swallow hard and shove his hands behind his back before they reached for her. They stared at one another for a long moment, then Christine dropped her eyes, and walked over to the grand and took her position for scales.

"Maestro? Warm-ups?" she said a touch impatiently.

He took a deep breath and went slowly back to the piano. "It would seem the student has over-taken the teacher." he muttered.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

"Tell me again why I should be excited about tonight?"

She turned to Christine who was fussing with her hair in front of the giltwood pier glass in her bedroom. Her friend as usual looked exceptionally pretty wearing a light blue silk dress, her blonde hair piled on top of her head, tendrils of it framing her face.

"You're supposed to be looking forward to your first dance. It's mine too and I wouldn't have any fun tonight knowing you were sitting at home. We're going to have a wonderful time, Meggie, so cheer up!"

Meg gave her friend a sour look as they heard voices in the hall downstairs. "What is Raoul going to say about me tagging along? He won't like it, you know."

Christine grabbed her fringed shawl, the color of champagne, and opened her door. "Leave that to me. Give me five minutes, then you come down, all right?"

She swept down the stairs and took in the sight of Raoul wearing a dark blue suit, his stubborn hair brushed neatly into submission. His face lit up with admiration when he saw her walking toward him. Smiling, he handed her a nosegay of pink carnations.

Edna stood in the doorway of the parlor smiling at the young couple, remembering her first dance with a beau, who just happened to be a young and handsome Matthew Stone. She would do all she could to see that Christine made a good marriage; she owed it to her sister to make sure her daughter was well taken care of...that, and her own love for the young woman...Raoul de Chagny seemed a likely candidate. Good family and college bound soon. Yes, he would make her niece an excellent husband. She shook off a moment of unease, remembering what Martha Drake told her. It was quite possible that there was some truth to what she said. Perhaps Christine's teacher _did _have designs on her. She did spend an inordinate amount of time in his presence, and now she was doing some copy work for him. Her niece was young and innocent...perhaps too innocent. It might be a good idea to have a talk with her, and soon, but not until after her debut onstage which was only a week away now.

Raoul thought Christine was the best looking girl in St. Joe. Hell...the world. "You look..." His face reddened and he searched for the perfect compliment. "Pretty." he finally managed.

Christine held the flowers up to her nose and sighed dramatically. "Thank you. I just wish I could be more excited about tonight." And she sighed again, and peeked at his reaction.

The smile left his face quickly. "What's wrong? D-Don't you want to go with me?"

She looked down at the nosegay and shook her head. "It's not that. Of course I want to go with you! It's just...well." She gazed at him with beseeching eyes. "Poor Meg. She wanted so badly to go to this dance and she has no way there."

Before he could say anything, she put her hand on his arm. "Please, Raoul. Can she come with us?"

His anger began to stir. Giry again. He was starting to feel like one of the Musketeers. All for one, and one for all. Then he looked into the deep blue pools of her eyes and said...

"Yes," and could have kicked himself. No sooner had the word left his mouth, Meg was making her way down the stairs, looking quite pretty herself in an emerald green dress with a flowing black sash, her dark glossy curls done up in a chignon.

Something wasn't adding up to him; it was almost as if Meg had been waiting at the top of the stairs...

But suspicion wasn't a part of his placid nature, and he pushed it resolutely away. Very well. He would view it as a plus then. He would no doubt be the _only_ man present at the dance escorting _two_ lovely ladies.

Meg looked shyly at Raoul. "I hope you don't mind my coming with you. I promise once we get there, I'll leave you two alone."

With Christine watching, he gave in as gracefully as he could. "It's all right." he mumbled.

Hannah appeared at the end of the hallway, surprised to see Meg looking lovely in the dress she'd made for her just recently. She'd felt bad for her daughter when no one had asked her to the dance, but apparently that wasn't stopping her from going. She beckoned to Meg and she approached her mother slowly; Hannah felt the warning bells going off. But before she could say anything, Meg beat her to it.

"I can explain, Mama, but not now, all right?" she softly pleaded with her mother. "Raoul is taking both of us to the dance, and we're leaving now."

Hannah gazed at her daughter nonplussed. "But Meg..." She stopped suddenly, exasperated with her, but realizing this wasn't the time. She smiled and gave her a hug and whispered in her ear. "You look very pretty, Marguerite. Have a wonderful time."

She walked over to Christine and pulled her aside. Taking the girl's hands into hers, she looked at her tenderly. "My daughter couldn't have a better friend than you. I hope she never forgets that."

She gave the housekeeper a hug. "She's like a sister to me, Hannah. Besides, she would do the same for me."

Christine said goodnight to both women, giving her surprised aunt a hug as well, and the three young people walked out to the buggy in front of the house, with Raoul handing them up and getting in himself. Christine chanced a look at the tower and wasn't at all surprised to see a figure standing in the window. She felt a moment of unease, but it quickly passed...surely he wouldn't begrudge her an evening of fun? The coming week would be busy with the preparations for Figaro; she still had last minute fittings for her costume and rehearsals would be even more grueling. Everyone had the jitters and she was no different, plus...someone else had purportedly seen the ghost. She snorted. Ghost indeed! It had been that empty-headed friend of Becky's. What was her name? Oh yes...Estelle Wheeler. She claimed to have seen a dark figure near the practice room floating toward her. She told everyone it had red eyes and growled at her, much like a wild animal would. It had disappeared through a wall, leaving her screaming and falling away in a dead faint. She may have been frightened at some point, but she told the story over and over again, embellishing it until she barely got away with her life.

They left the curb and started for the school in the warmth of the spring evening. Meg was speaking shyly with Raoul, and Christine's mind went back to earlier that afternoon when she'd been at Archer House in the library. Erik had given her a stack of the paper he used and a pen filled with his red ink, then seated her at the refectory table. He handed her the rough chapter copy, and she got a good look at his hands, which had been spotted with ink stains. She giggled, looking at his shirt cuffs which were usually so pristine, and were now dotted with red as well.

"I thought _I _was supposed to be the one covered in ink, not you!"

He pulled his hand back quickly. "Uh, no. It wasn't the serial I was working on. It was something I started last night. Music."

She began writing in her neat hand. "Oh? Will you play it for me sometime? I would love to hear it."

"Yes. Once it's finished...you may count on that." He turned to leave.

Christine stopped writing and took a deep breath. "Erik? I can only stay until noon. I have an engagement tonight and I need time to get ready." She ducked her head down and continued writing.

He went still with one hand on the door knob. "Would de Chagny be a part of this _engagement,_ Christine?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she said, just as softly. She finally had the courage to look at him. He was wearing a gray paisley waistcoat and a burgundy cravat, and she thought irrelevantly, that at least he'd kept the ink splatters contained to his cuffs.

He turned to face her and as usual, she looked upon the emotionless black mask. But his eyes were alight with fire, and for a tiny moment she felt alarm. Then she relaxed a little, realizing it was only the morning light coming through the stained glass windows causing it to seem that way.

"Then I wish you an enjoyable evening." he said stiffly, meaning anything but that. In the next instant he was gone and Christine had worked on through the morning, all the while feeling quite bad and not knowing why.

"Christine! Did you hear me? I said...it's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

She looked at Meg. "I'm sorry. Yes it is. I was thinking about something."

"Well then, it must have been an unpleasant something the way you looked just now."

She forced a smile. "It's nothing. Just getting a little nervous about opening night, that's all."

"You're going to be fine. And don't you worry about all of St. Joe being there to watch your big moment. You'll soon get over all of those eyes staring at you."

Christine laughed, her buoyant mood restored. "You certainly know how to make me feel better, friend. I suppose if I fall on my..." she coughed, "backside, you'll be the first one onstage to offer me a hand up?"

Meg looked at her, eyes shining in amusement. "Of course! What are friends for after all?"

They both started to giggle, and only laughed harder when Raoul gave them his, I-don't-understand-women-at-all look. He smiled adoringly at Christine. "You're going to be wonderful. My entire family is coming to opening night," which started the two girls laughing all over again.

Meg wiped her eyes. "See? Most of St. Joe _will _be there."

Humboldt School was brightly lit and carriages came and went at the front of the wide building as the ladies were dropped off near the entrance. Christine and Meg stood to one side and waited while Raoul found a place to leave the buggy, for they would all go into the dance together. Christine clutched her carnations tighter and waved to old school chums she hadn't seen in a while, as well as a few members of the opera company. She grinned when she saw Carlotta approaching on the arm of Max Fontaine, their curly haired tenor.

They stopped for a moment, and Carlotta leaned in toward her. "Just a warning, Christine...Becky should be along any minute now. We passed them on the road...they were pulled over to the side, and when we came up beside them they sprang apart..." The dark haired woman colored slightly and lowered her voice. "And I don't think the gentleman with her was removing something from her eye either. She's a real piece of work, that one is."

Saying her goodbyes, Christine thanked her and turned to Meg. "I wonder what's keeping Raoul?"

The younger woman shrugged and looked toward the road. "I don't know, but look out, because here comes trouble, and what's more, _it_ looks just like Becky."

They both watched as a gorgeously gowned Becky walked up the sidewalk on the arm of a well dressed older man. She saw Meg and Christine right away, and tugged on the arm of her escort, pulling him toward the two women. "Christine, may I present to you, Walter Donleavy, a _very _good friend of my father's. Walter, this is a fellow cast member from the opera house, Miss Christine Daae." She purposely ignored Meg, and Christine felt her anger start a slow simmer.

Walter nodded to Christine, eying her with interest. Becky leaned in close and said in a low voice filled with smug satisfaction. "I have a patron also, Christine, only mine isn't ugly as sin." She tugged on her escort's arm once again and went inside.

Christine made a move to go after her, but Meg put a hand on her arm. "Let her go. Someday she'll get exactly what's coming to her." She shook her head as she released her friend. "There's something definitely wrong with that one." She looked at Christine in puzzlement. "_What _was she blathering about? You don't have a patron. Do you?"

Christine shook her head, "She meant Erik, Meg. She saw us together, and she thinks _he's _my rich patron."

"Oh." she glanced at her apologetically. "H-He's not, is he?"

Christine looked at her sternly. "Well, of course not, Meg! How can you even think that way?"

Meg had the grace to look ashamed and the two girls stood there in silence while they waited for Raoul. Christine wanted nothing more than to walk up to Becky and rip handfuls of her carefully arranged hair from her head. It would seem that St. Joe wasn't big enough for the both of them anymore. All of a sudden she felt the need to leave here for a fresh new place, with a whole different set of people. She felt restless and no longer interested in the dance, but knew she had no other choice but to see it through.

Raoul came up the sidewalk practically at a run, looking anxious. "I had to leave the buggy quite a ways down the street." He looked at Christine who appeared angry and upset, then at a red-faced Meg. "I'm sorry I took so long, but it couldn't be helped." he said defensively.

Christine gave him a faint smile, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "It wasn't you, Raoul. It was Becky Drake...she enjoys baiting me."

He grunted and ran a hand through his blonde hair, standing it on end. "Wendell's the same sometimes. Don't let her get to you." Satisfied that Christine wasn't upset with him, and not even curious as to what Becky had said to her, he put an arm out to each of the ladies. "Come on. Let's go and have a good time. I know I will...I'm with the two prettiest girls at the dance!"

They proceeded to go inside, Meg looking up at him with sparkling eyes, and Christine thinking furiously about Becky's harsh words. She had never considered Erik as the object of anybody's contempt before. She saw him differently than that; he was an extraordinary musician and when he was being nice, he could be an interesting companion. She thought little of his mask anymore and never noticed his thin build the way she used to, but to someone like Becky, looks were everything. Her cruel words gave her food for thought. Erik _was_ a recluse, and given the fact that he refused to show his face to anyone, he no doubt spent most of his time alone. Except for Nadir, there wasn't anyone else. But for all she knew he enjoyed it that way, and sometimes, especially after her run-ins with Becky, she could understand why.

Raoul asked her to dance, and smiling sweetly at him, she shoved Erik resolutely into the far corner of her mind, resolved to enjoy herself tonight.

And she did, making sure not to cross paths with Becky again for the rest of the evening. She had many dance partners, but as the night wound down, Raoul got them each a glass of punch and a small square of cake. The room had become warm, and unfortunately her pretty nosegay was looking quite wilted. The room had thinned a little as some of the couples had already left for home. Finishing her punch, Raoul took their cups to the table and returned to her. "We have time for one more dance, Christine." She nodded and joined him on the floor. Meg was with a man named John Tanner, but her evening had been made when Raoul had appeared before her an hour ago, and asked her to dance. She had been surprised and delighted when he'd complimented her on her appearance. In that moment, looking up at the handsome boy, she had felt hope stirring once more, that maybe he would notice her a little more often.

At last their first dance had ended, and the three of them drove home under the star-lit sky, a happy Christine, humming Oh Shenandoah, and finally giving it voice, the other two listening for a while, then in a spirit of fun, chiming in. The drive home was filled with laughter and slightly off-key singing, when Raoul stopped the buggy in front of their house. Helping both girls out, Meg then turned to him. "Thank you, Raoul for allowing me to come along. It was a very nice evening." she said shyly. He murmured a reply and Meg went inside leaving them alone.

He stepped toward Christine and took her hand in his. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

She looked at him and smiled. "It was lovely, and I couldn't have asked for a better escort. Thank you for inviting me. And thank you for being so nice about Meg." she whispered.

He swallowed hard. "Your welcome." He started to lean toward her, and she knew he was about to kiss her.

She glanced up quickly at the dark tower window, feeling _his _eyes on her, and squeezing Raoul's hands, she said a hasty goodnight and left him standing on the front step. "You're such a coward, Christine." she muttered under her breath.

That night getting ready for bed, she thought once more of Becky's cruel words concerning Erik. It was bad enough that she had accused them of something clandestine, but to call attention to his appearance in the way she did, angered her like nothing else had. She went to the window just before she slipped into bed. The tower room remained in darkness. She resolved to go over there tomorrow and make up for the work she hadn't finished because of the dance. She just hoped that his mood had lightened. She yawned. With Erik, one never knew.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

After church, she made her way next door to work on the Phantom Trails copy. Mrs. Cole let her in and Nadir met her in the hallway.

"There's no need to work on it today. Erik doesn't expect it of you, child."

"Oh, I know he doesn't, but I'll be so busy this week with the debut of Figaro, I need to get caught up."

He merely shook his head and led her to the library. She settled herself at the table and resumed where she'd left off.

"I'll have Mrs. Cole bring you some tea if you like."

She glanced at him briefly. "No thank you, Nadir. I'm fine for now."

He closed the library doors and Christine got to work. She read along as she copied, admiring how the Phantom had gone after a pair of killers wanted in most of Missouri and Kansas; he really was a one-man posse. And to think she was nearly getting it straight from the bounty hunter himself. She worked steadily, and after an hour and a half, she put down her pen and stretched. She jumped a little when the door opened and Mrs. Cole entered with a tray.

"Erik insisted you stop for some tea, Miss. There's a chicken sandwich as well." She set the tray on the table.

"Erik, Mrs. Cole? Where is he?" She looked toward the doors hoping to see her teacher come through them at any moment.

"Oh, I expect he's somewhere down below, dear," and she looked at the floor beneath their feet, and shook her head sadly, as if instead of the cellar, he was entombed in the fiery pits of Hell. "He spends a lot of his time there, don't you know." She stepped back from the table. "Now then, eat the nice sandwich, child. You're quite thin as well, aren't you? Lord knows, _he _can't be bothered half the time to swallow some nourishment. Unlike Mr. Nadir, bless his heart." She chuckled. "That man loves to bend his elbow."

She bustled out the door in her black bombazine dress and white apron, and Christine poured herself a cup of tea. The sandwich _did_ look good and she took a bite of it, wondering why Erik had known she was here, but hadn't come in to say hello. Not that he was one for idle chit chat all that much. She ate most of the excellent sandwich and drank a cup of tea, all the while studying the portrait of Adelaide Archer above the fireplace. She tilted her head to the side, a thought just out of her grasp. Something about the woman drew her attention...quite possibly because she was similar to the marble lady on the landing. She finished her tea and put her dirty dishes on the tray and returned to work.

Forty-five minutes later, she was done...excitement still shone from her eyes, at the rousing ending of this installment...Hannah would love it. After stacking the pages neatly, she put them on Erik's desk and stretching and flexing her fingers, she walked over to the window looking out toward the back of the house. She pulled the draperies aside, letting in the welcome sunshine, then went still when she saw a familiar dark figure, striding quickly on long legs into the woods at the back of the property, Lucifer at his heels. But what gave her pause was the large cloth sack which was moving in his hand and tucked under one arm, what appeared to be a hatchet. She grabbed her shawl and the tray, heading quickly for the kitchen.

She paused long enough to set the tray down and thank Mrs. Cole and she was out the door, nearly running to where she last saw her teacher. He had told her that when the goose hit his last nerve, he would kill it. She picked up her skirts, and moved faster down the path, the bushes along the small trail pulling and tugging at her clothes. Apparently the silly goose had honked at him one too many times, and her volatile maestro had decided he'd enjoy the bird much better on his plate, smothered in gravy. Surely he wouldn't go too far into the woods to kill it, would he? She saw a clearing ahead and nervous now, she slowed her steps. What would he say when she showed up pleading for the bird's life? Nothing good, she reckoned.

She heard the excited honking and her teacher's voice, just as she reached the clearing, and his back came into view.

"Erik! Don't do it!"

He turned unhurriedly toward her, the empty bag and his violin and bow in one hand, and the hatchet in the other...the goose pecking calmly at his feet.

"Well, it took you long enough to get here. Did you stop to rest, child?"

"Uh..." she looked dumbly at the goose, obviously enjoying a meal of parched corn. She joined her teacher near a cluster of large rocks. "You knew I was f-following you? How?"

He pointed the bow at her. "You were anything but quiet, Christine. I knew it was you," and he leaned down and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "all those petticoats and such, make a quite charming bit of noise."

She colored up as she nearly always did around him. "I saw you from the library window and...and..."

"You saw the bag and thought I was on my way to a butchering, no?"

She nodded miserably, happy that the goose would live to honk another day, but embarrassed at being so wrong about her teacher. "I'm sorry."

He watched Christine as she hung her head, then he gently grasped her elbow and led her to a rock. "Here...sit, and I shall tell you what I'm doing out here," he pointed the bow at the goose, "with _that_."

She spied the kitten sitting as still as a statue in a patch of weeds, no doubt watching some small animal. She perched on the rock looking around the clearing and noticing for the first time, the small stream that emptied into a little pond and the large weeping willow leaning over the water. It would be a lovely spot for a picnic in the warm summer months.

Erik continued to watch her. "He'll never fly again. His wing is as good as I can make it, and I couldn't keep him in the cellar indefinitely. I remembered this place from walking the property, and thought it would make an excellent home for him." He pointed to a small, nearly finished lean-to under a few cottonwood trees. "His new home once I finish it...using the hatchet. I brought him dinner and had every intention of serenading him with music."

He shrugged. "What more could he want, I ask you?"

"A name." she said softly.

"Ah yes...you do consider that important, don't you? Very well. What do you suggest?"

"Anthony." she said promptly.

"And why that one?"

She couldn't help a snicker. "You wouldn't ask that if you'd ever heard Mr. Reyer blowing his nose!"

There was a ghost of a smile on his lips as he took some rosin from his pocket and applied it to the bow, then tucked the violin beneath his chin. He had been in a good mood since last night, when the boy delivered Christine to her front door, and there had been no goodnight kiss. He'd been watching from the darkened tower, and had seen her looking up at his window. Such were his small victories. Pitiful, to be sure.

"Erik? I-I'm sorry I thought the worst.. How could you have? You've cared for him all these months! I-I don't know what I was thinking!"

He looked at her briefly, knowing exactly _where_ the thought had come from. "Oh, I know why. A monster does awful things, does he not?"

She leaned forward. "Erik, no! You're not any such thing. I..."

"Hush." he interrupted her. "No harm done. Now what would you and..._Anthony _like me to play?"

She looked into his world weary eyes and wondered what awful things in his life had made him so brittle.

"Spring, from Vivaldi's, The Four Seasons."

He nodded. He tucked the violin once more beneath his chin. He regarded her steadily. "I'm glad you followed me, Christine."

She smiled gently. "I am too." She leaned forward on her rock, chin in hand and listened to the beautiful strains of the violin, played as only Erik could, and soon the clearing was filled with the rich sound of Vivaldi...and the honking of a goose.


	12. Chapter 12

She stood in the wings awaiting the beginning of Act IV, and then she would hit her mark and begin her cavatina. She wore her costume as the young daughter of the gardener...it consisted of a brown brocade corset laced up front and back, with a homespun brown skirt, her blonde locks covered by a curly black wig. It felt odd sitting atop her own hair...heavy and coarse; she really wanted to scratch beneath it, but that would never do, so she schooled herself to remain still.

This was it. She was nervous, but determined to go out and do her best. It was a full house, with most of St. Joe in attendance. Her aunt, Hannah and Meg, were sitting in the front, and Raoul's family was not far behind them. Her maestro had gone over the aria with her countless times in the last few days; even going so far as to play the part of Figaro in Act IV. He claimed that she was more than ready, and she had no choice but to believe him; her biggest fear had nothing to do with disappointing her family and friends...she was afraid of letting Erik down. His regard meant more than anything to her...they had both worked hard for this moment.

She knew he was somewhere out there in the opera house; she would have felt better knowing where for her own peace of mind, for she knew innately, that it would calm her and help her to focus. She thought of their lesson last night and his confidence in her. He'd been sitting at the piano just after the run-through of her aria.

He had turned to her, seeming calm and unruffled...quite different from his normal demeanor. "I can do no more with you on this particular role. You, child _are _Barbarina. Sing like that tomorrow night and you shall be fine."

"You _will_ be there, Erik, won't you?"

He stood up and approached her. "I wouldn't miss it, Christine. You are after all, my protegé, and...for that reason alone...very important to me." He stopped in front of her; so near, that he literally towered over her. He was close enough to smell the cleanness of her hair, and the subtle scent of roses which was always present when she was in the room. He drew in a deep breath, and taking her by the elbow, led her to the door. "Now then...go home and get some rest. Don't fret over tomorrow night either."

He had done something out of character last night...he'd walked her to the kitchen door talking quietly all the while. She wasn't certain if he did it to calm her fears, but the sound of his voice had a soporific effect on her, and she went home feeling better and more composed.

And she had done what he'd suggested or at least tried to. Before she had retired to bed, she'd sat at the kitchen table with Hannah, her hands wrapped around a mug of chamomile tea. Meg was watching Abby for Sarah Robidoux, and her aunt was at a charity event and wouldn't be home until later that evening.

Hannah smiled at the girl and pushed a plate of sugar cookies toward her. "You haven't said very much about the chapter of Phantom Trails in Friday's paper. It was exciting too." She looked closely at the younger woman. "Losing interest in the Phantom? Bound to happen I guess, sooner or later."

She looked innocently at the housekeeper, highly amused that she'd already read that chapter before it went to the Gazette for publication. Sometimes she had to bite her tongue when the urge came along to reveal the fact, that _she _had done the copy work for that particular chapter, and had already started on the next one. She was dying to tell someone about her involvement, but she'd promised Erik she would keep quiet.

"Getting nervous about tomorrow? No one would blame you if you were."

Christine took a sip of tea and reached for a cookie. "Yes...of course I am, but Erik said I'm more than ready." She shrugged. "Sometimes...he makes me feel like I can accomplish anything I want to do. Reach that high note and have more left to give." She smiled wryly and shook her head. "And other times...well, he gets upset when I don't concentrate and he loses his temper. He can be just a bit...daunting." That was an understatement, she thought, running her finger around the rim of her mug. "You've met him...you know what he's like. But I trust him when he tells me I can do this...he's given up so much of his time for me. I can't let him down, Hannah." She drank more of her tea, finally feeling like she could sleep.

The older woman watched Christine's face as she talked. "You're fond of that man, aren't you, child?"

She glanced at the housekeeper in surprise. "Fond of Erik?" She looked at Hannah reflectively, her gaze softening, then nodded slowly. "Yes...I suppose I am." She finished her tea and set the mug down. "I never really thought about it, but you're right." She laughed a little. "I guess it kind of sneaked up on me."

Hannah had smiled at that and carried their mugs to the sink. "He's an odd man, and the mask put me off at first, but there's something to be said about a person that animals tend to trust...they seem to have an affinity for him. His black mare trails him around that corral the same as that cat follows him everywhere." She stood there drying the cups, then nodded at the window. "This morning I watched as he went into the woods followed by the cat and that noisy goose he keeps over there." She set the clean mugs on the shelf. "It was a sight to see all right...made my day, it did."

"Anthony?" Christine laughed and shook her head. "The goose is _supposed_ to live in the clearing in the little shelter he built for him, but he keeps coming back to the house looking for Erik."

Hannah took the remaining cookies and slipped them into the stoneware crock on the dry-sink. "Well, Lillian Cole doesn't care for that growing menagerie he's got over there I can tell you! She was beating one of them Persian rugs the other day in the back yard, and the goose came up behind her, and well...goosed her. She told me she chased it away with the broom." Her eyes were alight with laughter, but she had given the younger woman a cautionary look. "It's not all that amusing, child. If that bird decides to come over here and do the same to me...well, he might end up with his goose getting _cooked_!"

Christine just managed to keep a straight face. It was a hard thing to do; just imagining the portly Mrs. Cole chasing a honking Anthony around the yard with a broom, was more than enough to send her off into peals of laughter. But the image of her tall thin teacher leading his small group of misfits into the woods, with the waddling goose bringing up the rear, nearly undid her composure. He was rather like the Pied Piper, but in Erik's case, it was a violin.

"Like I said...animals seem to know, but that night the cat went into the barn, he was almost friendly." She laughed lightly, but couldn't control an involuntary shiver. "Well, I thought he was _after _I got over my fright. His eyes are shocking at first, especially when it's so unexpected." Christine remembering the night of the storm, nodded in agreement, knowing how scared she'd been at her first glimpse of Erik. "But Nadir was there soon after and helped smooth things over."

It seemed to Christine that Hannah's cheeks always got rosier when Nadir Khan was mentioned. She smiled slyly at the housekeeper. "You're fond of that man, aren't you?"

Hannah's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Christine knew she'd gone a bit too far. "Christine Nielsson! I'll thank you not to bandy my words about, if you don't mind!"

She mumbled an apology to her and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Hannah. That was _bad_ of me. But what made you decide after that night to make him a peach cobbler?"

Hannah shrugged. "I don't know, to tell the truth. After that cat was let out of the carriage house, he didn't leave right away. He wanted to talk about you."

Christine, who'd been drawing imaginary circles on the red checked table-cloth, looked up in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes, he wanted to know a little about your parents and how long you've lived with your aunt. As to why I made him a cobbler..." Hannah shook her head and sighed. "I just got the impression from him that kindness has been rather absent from his life. He was giving you free lessons; it wasn't much, but Nadir said Erik enjoyed that dish of cobbler more for the fact that I made it just for _him_, than anything else. That's sad, I think."

"He told me once that he was an orphan. No one wanted him." She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "I would have been one myself if Aunt Edna hadn't taken me in. But poor Erik! It must have been truly horrible for him because of his face."

Hannah grabbed Christine's hand and stared hard at her. "_Poor _Erik? Whatever you do, miss...don't ever show him pity. He won't take to it very kindly...especially coming from you."

Christine nodded slowly. "I understand, Hannah. He's a proud man, isn't he?"

"Yes...I think that he is. But anyone can see that, the way he carries himself. It would take something momentous to make _that_ man grovel." She chuckled. "You would think we've known each other a lifetime, the way I talk, but I've only seen him twice since then."

"Oh? Where was that?"

"One night I was sitting on the bench under the grape arbor getting some air. It was a nice evening...I was waiting for N..." Hannah flashed a quick look at the girl. "I mean, I was admiring the stars, and the next thing I knew, he was there and thanking me quite nicely for the peach cobbler. He can be a real gentleman, but he's not a lightweight when it comes to his thinking, Christine. A body had better be on their toes with that one." She shrugged. "We talked for about ten minutes, during which he asked about you, and if you were well. It was a Saturday night and he hadn't seen you that day for lessons." Hannah said nothing for a minute. "He's very attached to you, Christine." she said quietly.

The girl looked away, her face reddening, embarrassed now. "And the other time you saw Erik?"

"I was in the back yard when he came out of the carriage house with that gray horse. He'd turned him out in the paddock with that mare of his and I walked over." Hannah looked at her thoughtfully. "He wasn't nearly as nice that day as he'd been the first time...he was abrupt and seemed agitated."

Christine was compelled to defend him. "He's not as comfortable during the daylight hours, Hannah. He prefers the night. I'm sure you know why."

The housekeeper nodded. "I noticed that after a few minutes. Especially when I realized he wasn't wearing his mask."

Christine felt the need to clarify. "Actually, Hannah...you just saw another mask...he _never _shows his face."

"Well, that explains his attitude toward me then. He must feel mighty comfortable around you though." She grabbed the dish rag from the sink and wiped an already clean table. "Does he know that your aunt has requested that he stay away from you outside of the lessons?" she asked casually.

Christine glanced up at Hannah with a guilty look and dropped her eyes. "No...not yet. I haven't had to tell him." That wasn't exactly true, thinking of their little rendezvous in the woods earlier in the week. But she'd felt the injustice of it all, once again. "Aunt Edna shouldn't have listened to that backbiting snake, Martha Drake. She should worry about what her own daughter is up to. Erik is...different, but he wouldn't hurt me. He's my teacher, Hannah... that's all."

The housekeeper thought there was much more to it than that, but said nothing to the young woman. The horse and buggy for Christine's use. The free voice lessons, not to mention the amount of time he obviously spent at the opera house while the girl was there. Maybe it was high time she had a talk with Nadir...and soon.

"Will he be there for your début, do you think?" Already knowing the answer.

"He wouldn't miss it." she had told Hannah quietly.

And now here she stood, in the wings and ready to hit her mark and begin her aria.

It was time. Daniel Rossetti, who played Figaro, winked and gave the young woman a smile of encouragement. She walked onto the stage, and took up her position just before the curtain was to open on Act IV. She could already feel the eyes on her, and Meg's remark about all of St. Joe being here tonight, flitted through her thoughts. To her credit, her knees were only shaking a little...she took a deep breath and prepared herself. The stage was realistically rendered to portray the castle gardens at night, where Barbarina would search frantically for the brooch she'd lost. The orchestra played her introduction, and with her heart in her throat, she began her aria, L'ho perduta, me meschina.

She looked out unseeingly over the heads of the audience, doing her best through her voice and movements, just as her teacher had taught her, to give importance to the tender emotions of a girl of humble origin. A girl wanting and needing to be taken seriously by others. As she sang, her gaze swept over the theatre searching the dark corners, unknowingly seeking the one who guided her more than she realized. Her eyes alighted on Box 5, and before they could move on, she saw him.

He was leaning on the carved railing, his _face_ a white glimmer in the dim light, and she knew his eyes were intense upon her just from the stillness of his body. She focused on her maestro and sang to him, just as she had that night when he'd first arrived at Archer House. _Only_ for him, forgetting the packed house...needing to please her teacher, and before she knew it, the thunderous applause had broken out, accompanied with shouts of bravo coloring her cheeks, and her aria had ended. She kept her eyes on Erik and watched with tear-filled eyes as he bowed deeply to her. When she looked for him a moment later, he was gone.

She acknowledged the applause, excited and relieved that the cavatina was over and she had done her best. The rest of the opera went smoothly, small mistakes and gaffs made here and there, but for the most part, it was an auspicious beginning for the two week run. There were numerous curtain calls, to which the company responded enthusiastically...even some in the orchestra never ceased their applauding, lightly tapping the bows of their violins against their music desks; part of it was the enjoyment of the well received performance, but it was also the novelty of having the theatre once again providing music and drama.

She made her way backstage, consumed with joy, after exchanging heartfelt congratulations with other members of Figaro, Carlotta giving her a big hug, and Max grinning ear to ear at the success of their opening night.

"Where's that hideous patron of yours tonight, Christine?" Becky Drake was standing at her elbow, looking pretty in her own green and brown peasant costume, her pale eyes full of malice. "And don't get carried away with yourself, by the way. You weren't all _that_ good, you know."

She winced, not prepared for Becky and her jealousy over Christine's successful début; she was still happy over her well delivered aria that night, and chose to smile at Becky. "I have no patron, nor do I need one, Becky...however, I'm quite sure that _you_ do," and Christine left the other girl behind, blissfully unaware that Becky Drake would one day be the catalyst of much pain and heartache. But for now, she wished only to remove the grease paint from her sweating face, and the wig which had become itchy and nearly unbearable. She went to the small, but comfortable dressing room set aside for her use, and opening the door, she was immediately made aware of the fragrance of a number of floral arrangements. Two dozen red roses, gorgeous in their velvety softness, drew her across the room, and curious as to who had sent them, she plucked the card from the center of the deep red bouquet, bending down to inhale their glorious scent. She opened the card and recognized the handwriting even before she saw his initial.

_To~ 'Barbarina'_

_ E._

Seeing that letter brought a memory instantly to mind, of her and Meg on All Hallows, laughingly tossing apple peelings over their shoulders to find the initial of their future husbands. Meg had insisted hers had been an E. She shook her head. It had only been a silly game for children.

"I told you it would go well, did I not, Christine?"

She whirled around at his voice, startled at his sudden appearance in her dressing room.

"Erik!" she looked up at him, her wide eyes taking in his formal suit of white tie and tails, a white silk mask in place of the black, but what drew her the most, were his eyes which held the gleam of burnished gold. He took her hands gently in his cold ones and leaned in closer to her.

"You were..."

"Christine? Hello?" Raoul was outside the door, and from the sound of it, he was not alone.

She turned toward the door, but hearing a slight noise behind her, she turned back to her teacher to find herself alone in the room. "Erik?"

Disappointed, she went to the door and let Raoul and her family in. Amidst all of the hugs and congratulations, she looked vaguely around the room, and wondered how her maestro had left it. Raoul handed her a mixed bouquet of daisies, carnations and tiger lilies, for which she thanked him enthusiastically.

"You were wonderful, Christine! My mother would be pleased to meet you if you have a moment." he said, his eyes alight with admiration.

Her aunt caught her niece's look of exhaustion and said to Raoul, "She needs to catch her breath, young man and change. Just give her a few minutes, if you don't mind."

He nodded, quelled once again by Christine's no-nonsense aunt and left the room. Christine sat down in front of her mirror with a sigh and began removing her make-up.

"All these flowers, Christine! And the roses...they're beautiful." Meg said, bending over as her friend had earlier, and delighting in the fragrance.

Christine nodded tiredly. Now that it was over, she felt herself relaxing from all the worries and nervousness of her first time onstage. It was her small triumph tonight, after all the months of tense and sometimes down-right painful voice lessons with a brilliant and temperamental teacher, she could finally see some results. And she owed it all to the man who'd just been unwittingly chased out by her family.

Her aunt looked fondly at her. "Child, I was so very proud of you tonight! You sang like an angel...I'm quite sure your dear parents were watching tonight."

Christine got up from her chair and gave her a warm hug. "I'm glad I made you proud, Auntie, but you know, I couldn't have done it without my teacher." she said firmly.

"Did you see him tonight, Christine?" Hannah asked her. "I'm sure he was well pleased."

"Yes, I saw him." she said quietly, and that was all.

She finished removing her make-up and changed into a ruby taffeta skirt and white blouse with a high collar and puff sleeves. She chatted with Meg as she got ready.

"Who sent you the roses? That must have been awfully expensive." said Meg, looking inquiringly at her.

Christine slipped a black velvet belt around her slim waist and hooked it. Adjusting it, she glanced over at the lovely blooms, which in the gaslight looked nearly black.

"Erik," she said softly. "They _are_ beautiful, aren't they?"

Edna on hearing this, looked speculatively at her niece. A small posy from her teacher would have been acceptable, but roses? Only a man in the throes of love gives red roses, and two dozen of the blooms was nearly unheard of...even her late husband hadn't given _her _red roses but once, and after they'd been married a year! They were hard to come by in this part of Missouri, and would be very expensive to acquire elsewhere in time for the opening night. She felt, and not for the first time either, an uneasiness at Christine's continuing association with their mysterious neighbor. He'd worked wonders with her voice; his talent in that regard, was not contested, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he expected much more from the young woman. Edna would talk to her niece about continuing her musical education at the conservatory in the fall. Since Christine had begun her lessons with him, she had spoken less about going, but prior to the arrival of their neighbor, sometimes it was all she_ could_ talk about. To Edna, it was becoming imperative that she attend.

Meg, meanwhile, watched her friend closely. "I thought he would be here, Christine. Where is he?"

She shrugged. "He _was_ here. I don't know where he is now."

"Well, what did he think about your performance tonight? Stop being so close-mouthed!" she complained.

Christine gave her a false smile and said quickly, and a little untruthfully, for he'd never been given the chance to say _how_ he felt about her début. And she wanted so very much to know."H-He thought I did very well...he was pleased. And now, let's be off! I'm starving!"

Meg looked at her friend puzzled. Her teacher spends months instructing her and nurturing her voice; she sings so beautifully tonight, and he's only _pleased_? This should have been his evening of triumph as well as Christine's, but he was nowhere in sight. Even for a near recluse as Erik was, she'd assumed he'd be here. There was much more to this than her friend was letting on, but she nodded and joined her at the door.

Christine tucked her arm through Meg's. "Come on...let's go celebrate a successful opening night!" And she was _almost_ able to relegate Erik into the far corner of her mind. She was going out to dinner with her family and Raoul, but first she was to be introduced to Raoul's parents.

Mrs. de Chagny was a pale tired-looking woman with a perpetual harried look. She took Christine's hand in hers. "I can see why my son is so taken with you. You have a face to match that beautiful voice, my dear, and pretty manners as well; perhaps you'll come visit us one of these days. We'd be pleased to have you for dinner."

Christine could well see what Raoul would look like someday when he was older; except for the gray hair, he very much resembled his father as did the other boys in the family. The exception was the little girl, Clara, who had the brown hair and eyes of her mother. Philippe, the handsome eldest son, looked at Christine with friendly interest. Over all, she was much taken with the noisy de Chagnys, secretly always wanting to be a part of a large boisterous family like theirs.

They left them in the Grand Foyer...Christine, her family and Raoul were going to the Culver Hotel for dinner. Her aunt had rented a carriage and driver for the evening, and Christine had taken one last searching look around the foyer before walking outside and getting in, holding steadfastly to Erik's roses, amusing Hannah no end, and irritating her aunt, who complained, "I would have hired a larger carriage, child if I'd known there was to be another passenger," she said, annoyed at the large fragrant blooms which kept getting in their way.

"Well, missus...you have to admit, they sure smell sweeter than the average passenger." Hannah said with a sly wink at Christine.

Meg sat beside her clutching Raoul's flowers, wishing he had given them to her instead of Christine; it was pretty obvious to her that her friend was much more attached to the roses.

Dinner at the hotel was a gay affair and a few other diners approached her at her aunt's table with compliments on her début. She was tired but happy, and enjoyed her dinner with all the pressure and weeks of work finally easing a little. Raoul was dropped off at his home afterward, and then the driver delivered her family to their house, and they all exited the barouche onto the carriage block near the street, her big evening coming to a close. She glanced over at Archer House...the tower was dark, but she decided then and there what she was about to do.

She handed the roses to Hannah and turned to her aunt. "I'd like to go over and talk with Erik for a few minutes. I need to see him about the performance tonight...I never got the chance earlier. May I?"

Edna was about to deny her permission, when she hesitated. Erik had been instrumental in Christine's success, and she didn't feel that ending his tutelage at this very moment, would be wise. It wouldn't be prudent to alienate the man. So she nodded to her niece.

"Go on then, but no more than half an hour, mind."

Christine walked between the two houses, and going up to the kitchen door, she tapped lightly. Mrs. Cole answered it, her face wreathed in smiles. "Come in, come in, young woman. They're both in the library...I'll just go and let them know you're here."

She waited only a few minutes, and then the housekeeper returned with a debonair Nadir, who was wearing tie and tails. "Christine, you sounded utterly delightful this evening! I was with Erik for the performance, and he was positively vibrating with excitement! How happy you must be." He took her hands in his. "And how proud _he _is of you!"

She smiled into his kind eyes after giving him a quick perusal. "Thank you, Nadir. May I say how handsome _you_ look?"

He chuckled. "You may. I'm never too old to accept a compliment from a pretty lady. And now...go on back to the library. He's expecting you."

The Persian was sure Erik would behave himself tonight, even though his friend's one nightcap had turned into several. Erik had stood when Act IV began, his gaze riveted and intense on Christine, and only turned to him when her aria was finished, and with glowing eyes had said, "She's wonderful isn't she, daroga? My God...the angels wept!" His look shone with a passion that was fierce and eternal. "Her instrument isn't even fully mature...wait, just you wait and see how truly great she shall become under my guidance!"

And indeed, she had sung beautifully. Erik was eager to see her, and had left their box before the first of many curtain calls. The Persian hadn't expected to see the masked man anytime soon, so he was surprised when Erik arrived home shortly after he did. They had retired to the library for a nightcap, and his masked friend had seemed deflated after his excitement earlier that evening. He hadn't said anything more about Christine; in fact, he hadn't said much at all, until she'd been announced by Mrs. Cole, and Nadir was quite sure, that the words his friend uttered in despair hadn't been meant for his ears.

He was slumped in one of the chairs near the fireplace, long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and sullenly watching the leaping flames as if all of his hopes were just so much smoke, rising up the chimney piece and disappearing into the night sky. "I would sell my soul to the very devil, to be able to walk unfettered the same as that damned boy, and go _anywhere_ with her." he had whispered.

The Persian heard so much wretchedness and want in his friend's voice, that it saddened him greatly; his doubts all along about Erik teaching the girl, were coming to dismal fruition.

Christine had seen Nadir's pensive look before he turned away, and she had wondered briefly at the cause as she left him in the kitchen and paused outside the library doors, smoothing her hands down her skirt, nervous all of a sudden. She tapped on the door and opened it, Erik rising from his chair. He stood silently, his white mask replaced with the black, regarding her with a look she didn't have the experience to interpret. He was minus his jacket; it being draped carelessly over the chair he was sitting in, his white satin waistcoat unbuttoned over his dress shirt and his bow tie undone, dangling limply around his neck. She had never seen him anything but impeccable, so she was surprised at his undressed state. Near his chair was a glass of amber colored liquid and an aromatic cigar burning in a heavy cut glass ash tray.

He saw her glance at the ash tray and shrugged his thin shoulders. "I usually don't indulge...bad for the voice you know, but tonight I decided I would like one. Have a seat, Christine. May I offer you some refreshment?" he said as he extinguished his cigar.

She politely declined, and sat down on the settee, waiting as he resumed his seat. He said nothing, but merely gazed at her expectantly. She felt let down somehow...she needed him to say something about her performance tonight. It had been so important to both of them for so long and his uneasy silence was making a mockery of that. In fact, he was almost too quiet. And so she braced herself.

"Thank you for the lovely roses. I've never been given such beautiful flowers and...and because they come from my teacher," she looked away shyly, "well, that makes them special to me."

He said nothing for a moment. "Was everything as you wished it to be, Christine? Your aria was nearly flawless...Figaro was a success on your opening night, and you were surrounded by your...loved ones. Everything you could possibly want, no?" His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but his eyes were guarded and wary.

She felt her high spirits deflate almost instantly at his coolness. "I came to thank you once again for your instruction and for your help. I didn't get a chance to talk with you properly tonight, w-which I deeply regret."

Erik reached for his glass of scotch and took a large swallow, then shook his head. "You shouldn't have any regrets, child. You're far too young for any of those."

"Erik...were you pleased with me tonight?"

He eyed her over the rim of his glass. "Very."

_But you don't sound pleased! _she felt like crying. Her teacher was once again taciturn and difficult; far from rejoicing with her and sharing in her triumph, he was being dismissive and condescending. If she didn't trust Nadir so much, she would have considered his words about Erik's praise of her performance, to be a gross exaggeration. But she knew he told the truth, which made her wonder why he was so very different from his earlier excitement.

She rose from her chair. "I told my aunt I wouldn't be gone for long, so I'll be saying good night now." Of all things! Instead of the happiness and relief over her successful début that she _should _be feeling at this very moment, she merely wanted to go home, lock herself in her room and have a good cry. And she resented _him _for making her feel that way. She glanced at her teacher one more time, then walked to the door.

"Christine!"

She turned to see him standing there uncertainly. She reluctantly met his eyes, and was shocked by the abject misery she saw there. "What's wrong, Erik?" she said gently, concern for him replacing her resentment for the moment. "Is it something _I've_ done?"

He shook his head as if dispelling bad thoughts. "N-No, it's nothing. Nothing at all. I'll see you on Monday, yes?"

His different moods always pushed her into a state of confusion. Where he had been cool and distant before, he was hesitant and unsure now. She was tired and wanted nothing more than a good night's sleep.

But she nodded her head. "Yes. Monday. Good night...Maestro."

He stared unseeingly at her retreating back, and with the quiet snick of the door, he leaned down blindly, picked up his glass of scotch...and with a roar of pain, hurled it at the fireplace.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N This is another long one, guys. It contains violence and coarse language. **

Christine tied Nellie to the hitching post in front of the Commerce Bank on Main St. and went inside. Every month her aunt deposited money in an account set up for Christine's schooling at the conservatory, which she'd been doing for three years now. Her aunt hadn't needed the buggy that morning...the early July day promised to be a warm one again, and she'd decided against a walk to town. She'd refused to have Figaro hitched to the buggy for her use...after their most recent argument last night, she wanted to avoid Erik for as long as she could.

She smiled though, thinking again of the noisy dinner she'd had at the de Chagny home two nights before. She'd been surrounded by the boisterous children, barely kept in line by their beleaguered mother, until Mr. de Chagny stepped in and threatened to take a switch to their backsides. At times, Raoul had seemed embarrassed by them, but Christine had watched their careless affection for each other and been charmed. Much different than the mostly negative feelings she had for her teacher. He puzzled her much of the time. Whenever he finally began to seem more human to her, he'd revert to his usual imperious and sarcastic self. They had parted the evening before, barely speaking, and she wasn't sure why. She tried to force her mind back to more pleasant thoughts of Raoul's family, but failed dismally.

Her teacher was pushing her more and more since her debut onstage at the opera house a month ago. The next performance scheduled was to be Faust, and she had secured the breeches part of Siebel. They hadn't needed her today for rehearsal and that's why she was able to get some errands run, but he would be expecting her for her lesson come rain or shine...at least she _thought_ he would be expecting her. Their argument had been rather heated and it always hurt her to end an evening on a sour note, but lately it had been happening more and more. He'd been touchy as a bear with a sore paw...more so than usual.

She entered the bank's shadowy interior after the brightness of the sunny day, and didn't see the gun pointed at her until it was too late. She gasped loudly as the man pulled her roughly up against him and told her in a gravelly voice to stay quiet. Another man was ordering the bank teller to open the vault and fill a cloth sack with money. He looked briefly at the man holding onto her.

"I told you to _watch_ the damned door, ya jackass! Now do it before someone else decides to come in!"

"And do _what_ with 'em? Just hurry the hell up, so we can get outta here!"

"Faster, you fool or I'll cuff ya one!" the man said gruffly, waving the pistol at the frightened teller. As he said this, his bandana slipped down around his neck, and Christine got a quick look at his face before he hurriedly yanked it back up.

The teller shook so badly he dropped the sack and had to start over. Both men had faded kerchiefs pulled up over their faces, and from the brief look she'd had of the one man, she hadn't recognized him...she didn't think they were from around these parts. The glimpse she'd had, revealed someone fairly young and not altogether bad looking...his features regular underneath a week's growth of beard. Their accents were more of a drawl than anything heard in St. Joe. They were both big men and rough looking; she'd seen their kind before in town, and they'd usually ended up in jail on Saturday night, after getting drunk and fighting with anyone foolish enough to get in their way.

"Let me go." she said to the man holding her. She pushed against his arm which was tight around her waist, frightened by the quick turn of events.

"Please." she said again, her stays cutting off her air and making breathing difficult.

"Shut. Up. Before I do it for you." he calmly stated, and gave her a rough shake.

She shut up.

The sack was filled, and the man holding it turned to Christine's captor. "Let's go...let's go, before someone else walks in!" he said, surly and impatient.

A noise made them turn. The teller had grabbed a shotgun from under the counter, and with badly shaking hands, was aiming it at the man with the money sack. Christine watched as the man holding her, raised his gun and shot him almost casually. She cried out in horror as a round hole appeared in the man's chest, blood quickly staining his white shirt bright red. With a pained look of surprise at her, he crumpled to the floor with a soft grunt. She knew the teller from coming to the bank on a regular basis...he'd been pleasant most of the time and had treated her with kindness. And now he was dead, sprawled on the floor, the sight of all the blood and the coppery stench of it turning her stomach. Her breath hitched in her chest, and scrunching her eyes closed, she turned away from the body on the floor, sickened.

The man holding the sack jerked his head at Christine. "We don't need her."

Her captor rolled his eyes at that. "She jest saw yer ugly face, asshole! And it's on a few posters around this dump of a town. Whadya want me to do...shoot her too? She goes with us...now hurry up, damn it! Someone might've heard that shot."

Time became jumbled in her mind after that, as they went out the back door of the bank, and into the alley where a pair of horses were tied. The man holding onto her, threw her roughly up on the horse, and swinging himself on, the two bandits kicked their mounts into motion and raced away down a side street and out of town, going over the bridge at Darlings Creek. Christine hung on tightly to the saddle horn and the horse's coarse mane, numb with terror. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of images, and most of them were not very good. Hot tears leaked from her eyes and stung as the warm wind and dust from the road blew into her face. St. Joe and her family were left behind and her immediate future began to look grimmer by the moment.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Nadir saw the group of people standing in a cluster around the bank and forced his horse into a canter. He saw the Stone horse and buggy tied to the post, as he walked his gelding up to the crowd. He asked a man standing nearby what had happened.

"Why...the bank's been robbed! Shot the bank teller dead and made off with money from the safe and a young lady too. The manager was just returning from the post office when he saw 'em riding away with the girl. Sheriff's gettin' some men together now to go after 'em."

The Persian felt a twinge of fear and asked the man. "The girl! Her name, man! What's her name?"

He shook his head, but a short heavyset woman turned to him. "I was told that it's Edna Stone's niece. The little singer. I heard her..." She stopped, the dark skinned man was gone.

Nadir put his horse into a hard gallop, and with forced patience, slowed him climbing the hill above town. Once on the bluff, he let him run full out, nearly sitting him on his haunches as he arrived home.

He entered the house shouting for Erik, startling Mrs. Cole. "Land's sake, Mr. Nadir. You'll be wakin' the dead!" She got a good look at his face. "What's wrong?"

"Where's Erik?"

"He left here about a half hour ago, but the floor is vibratin'...which means," She glanced down, "he's playin' that organ of his." The housekeeper slipped the cherry pie into the oven and turned around to an empty room. "Honestly, this kitchen should have a swingin' door the way those two go in and out of it." she muttered to herself.

Nadir went back out and around the side of the house to a pair of wide wooden doors...opened one, and went down the stone steps into the cool dimness of the cellar. He moved through a dark passage, simply following the music. He shook his head...he always knew where to find his friend when he was upset... holed up in the dark like a damned spider.

The mournful sound of it, only heightened the Persian's sense of urgency, and opening the thick door to Erik's subterranean music room, he strode over to the large pipe organ. The masked man stopped playing, the air still quivering from the rich sound of Mozart, and turned to him annoyed.

"You'd better have a very good reason for this, daroga." he said calmly, but Nadir knew calm was only the surface emotion. Erik was usually a seething mass of a myriad of feelings...the uppermost, contempt for the world in general.

Lately, he'd been feeling something quite different, and the Persian knew it was eating him alive. The very reason why he'd frowned on Christine getting to know Erik in the first place, for no woman, especially a young and pretty one could ever bring herself to love a man like his friend.

"There was a bank robbery in town about two hours ago. Two men they think. Killed the clerk and...and..." Nadir took a deep breath and stepped back. "They took Christine, Erik."

His friend of many years went very still, then turned to the Persian. "Two men you say? Did anyone see which way they headed?"

"It's thought they went south...only one person was paying attention to the direction and he thinks they rode out past Darlings Creek. They're probably making for the flat lands. Easier traveling, especially burdened with...with..."

Erik was already taking the stairs three at a time, Nadir following quickly. "Daroga, my bedroll, extra shells and water. Make sure my rifle is in the scabbard...have the mare saddled and ready in twenty minutes time, if you please."

He had said all this as he moved rapidly through the house, and Nadir turned and hurried the opposite way, collecting what was needed. Fifteen minutes later, the masked man arrived at the carriage house, booted, spurred and strapping on his gun belt.

"Let me go with you. I can help, old friend." Nadir said, as he moved away from the mare.

He shook his head and stepped into the stirrup. "That gelding of yours can't keep up with Moriah, and I'll be moving fast. What's more, you've become too fat and happy in your retirement...you'll only slow me down."

With that he cantered off, his mind already miles up the trail. The Persian shook his head and sighed heavily. "Poor child." he muttered.

But if anyone could get her back, it would be Erik...he was an excellent tracker. And Allah help either one of those murdering fools if she's not in good health when he finds them. With a heavy heart, he went next door to speak with Christine's aunt.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She winced from the ache in the small of her back and the burning on the inside of her thighs from the motion of the moving horse...it felt as if her tender flesh was rubbed raw. She had her arms around the man in front of her for the simple expediency of staying on the horse. She was riding with Charlie, the older of the two brothers; they were moving at a fast pace across the flat lands miles beyond St. Joseph, moving away from the Missouri River and likely somewhere in Kansas. They stopped to rest the horses as often as they could, but their main objective was to put distance between them and any law that might at this very moment be on their trail.

Christine was not sure what had caused her day to go so horribly wrong, or why she had chosen today of all days to visit the bank. Her mind simply wanted to shut down, when it should be coming up with ways to get out of the mess she was in. Her thoughts were scattered and filled with a foreboding going bone deep, but one thing it kept returning to was her maestro and their more recent argument.

Their lesson had just begun and she was singing her warm-ups, when Erik had stopped playing and simply sat there staring at the keys, long hands dangling between his knees. He had been subdued when she'd first entered the room which was unusual now that they had a friendship of sorts. Their relationship had become warmer over the months...she even felt a rough affection for him, when he wasn't so gloomy. Now that she knew he was H.T. Poman, they shared a secret together and in a way it had pulled them closer. She thought sometimes when she'd caught a particular gleam in his eyes, he might feel something even more for her than just friendship, but Erik kept his emotions closed off, and she could never be sure. But the way he'd looked at her after her debut had caused her pulse to race, and she had wondered...

Finally he'd raised his head and glanced at her standing and waiting in the bow of the piano. "I don't think I've ever told you how beautifully you sang that night." he said quietly. "I...sometimes forget that people like encouragement..._need_ it. I never had any myself..." He looked at his hands. "What I'm trying to tell you in my clumsy way is...you worked hard for your triumph, and it's long overdue, but...well done, my dear...very well done. You made me proud."

She was so surprised by him, that she was speechless for a moment. Then past the growing lump in her throat she'd found her voice, touched by his praise. "Thank you, Maestro! That means more to me than you'll ever know. I-I...gave you my soul that night...I sang for _you. _You've worked hard too...getting me ready to sing...it can only help me at the conservatory and I'll..."

"What?" Erik's head snapped up. "_What_?" he said again, dumbfounded. He leveled a seething look at her. "Do you mean to tell me, that you _still_ plan on going there? After everything I've taught you? My God! You've made your debut at the opera house, and you want to undo all that's been gained? This is your aunt's idea, isn't it? Tell me! Isn't it, Christine?"

His voice had risen until he was shouting at her and his eyes were wild. Erik could, with very little provocation, slip into a rage. Christine stepped backward slowly, not trusting her teacher in this quick turn of mood. But she sought to placate him a little. "It's...why...it's not until after my birthday, Erik. I have months yet. _Please_. Don't be upset with me. I...I don't know why you're so angry!"

He stood up from the bench and Christine fell back as he advanced on her. I've invested _months_ of my time, girl and yet...that's not good enough for you, I daresay! You want _professional_ schooling...not _my _pitiful attempts. Is that not so, Chrissstine?" he hissed.

She felt like a mouse going up against a rattlesnake...his eyes were alight with anger...and something else she couldn't name, but she was tired of backing down from him. "What is _wrong_ with you? You don't _o-own_ me! This is _my_ life...not _yours_!"

"Why you little...!"

"That's quite enough, Erik!"

The Persian had thankfully interrupted what he'd been about to say, as he entered the room swiftly and planted himself in front of her furious teacher. "Christine." he said softly. "Leave now."

She didn't need to be told twice.

And now under the hot sun, leaving her home far behind, she could think of nothing but the anger she'd seen in _his _eyes. Yet in spite of it, she felt only sorrow that she might never see him again.

They chose stops with water whenever possible, and both horse and man drank deep, for the day had warmed and the sun was glaringly bright. But letting the horses drink too much when they were overheated would cause them to founder, so Homer grabbed the bridle of his horse, and yanked his head out of the water. "That's enough ya jug-head!"

They rode for hours, and Christine rested her cheek against Charlie's back, thoroughly miserable and simply hanging on. The day had been hot and humid, but the sun was at long last starting to set, and already the long shadows of early evening were upon them.

"How you like this little outin', gal?" he said to her, as they paused to rest the horses.

She felt the hot flush of shame, but needed to ask it. "I...please, Mister. I need a little privacy..." She found she couldn't finish...her embarrassment too great. Charlie grinned, then pushed Christine toward some low bushes, some twenty feet away.

"Over there...behind that scrub brush. You have five minutes, and if yer not done by then, I'm comin' after you. Hear me?"

She nodded quickly and walked on stiff legs to the low bushes to relieve herself. She finished quickly, keeping her eye out for either one of the men, and limped back to the horses, pushing her hair tiredly away from her red and sweaty face. The sky had darkened a bit, and a small breeze had sprung up...it felt good, for the sun had been harsh on her fair skin. She'd lost her hat hours ago; it had been a ribbon and feather confection meant for quiet walks around town, not a swift ride cross country on the back of a horse. Homer filled the canteens from the stream, and Christine knelt down and cupped the cool water to her mouth drinking thirstily.

Charlie climbed on his horse. "Hoist her up here, Homer and let's git goin' before the law ketches up. Damn but yer slow." He looked thoughtfully at Christine, and rubbed his bristly chin. "Mebbe we should jest leave her here. We kin make better time without her."

She lifted her head at that. "Look...I-I promise not to say anything...just let me go." She would much rather take her chances alone. The men frightened her, especially Homer.

He capped the canteen and walking over, handed it up to his brother. "Naw...she kin ride with me...we'll git rid of her outside the next town." He turned to her and winked. "Come darlin'. Hug _me_ for a while."

He grabbed her arm and started pulling her to his horse. Tired, sore and heartsick, she unconsciously jerked her arm from his hard grasp and pushed him away. She could smell liquor on him...she'd watched him sneak a bottle out of his coat pocket all afternoon, and he'd been getting bolder with her at every stop, squeezing her waist with fingers clutching a little too long when helping her mount Charlie's horse. She wasn't quick enough to react as he hit her across the face with the back of his hand. Pain bloomed in her cheek as a heavy ring on one finger connected with her cheekbone. She cried out as her eyes filled with tears.

He grabbed her arm again, and pulled her to his horse, Christine unresisting this time.

Charlie shook his head and grunted. "What'd ya go and do that for? Little bitty thing did no wrong. Yer one mean son of a bitch today, ain't you, Homer?"

Homer lifted Christine onto the horse and climbed on himself. His hands had lingered on her, and she felt a thrill of fear.

"An gettin' meaner all the time. You best remember that, gal."

They would have to keep moving...she was relatively safe while they did. She was deathly afraid of what would happen when they stopped for the night. She touched her cheek gingerly, feeling the blood from the cut running down to her chin. Her hand shook as she wiped it away. She had never been treated so badly, and it alarmed her to the core.

They traveled another hour or so, until the last of the light left the sky, and the first sprinkling of stars appeared. They'd made it to some rolling hills and into a small belt of trees, with a good sized stream running through it, and that's where they halted for the night. They couldn't afford to keep their quick pace much further with only brief stops; the horses wouldn't last long, and neither would they. Christine was despondent and beyond weary. Unbidden, she thought of her teacher waiting impatiently for her to show up for her lesson. What she wouldn't give to be safe in his presence tonight. But maybe he was done with her after their last meeting. The thought depressed her even more.

Charlie gave her a shove. "Quit lollygaggin' gal. Go on and sit over by that tree...and don't you move, neither. Hear me?"

She did as she was told, putting hesitant fingers up to her split cheek. She sat down slowly at the base of the tree, the pain from her sore limbs and buttocks causing her to hiss...she was raw in places. She listened to the night sounds of crickets and the sawing of the wind through the cottonwood trees...she jumped when she heard the ululating cry of a coyote nearby.

"Gimme that bottle, Homer. You better 'ave saved me some of that, you no good son of a bitch!"

Homer laughed, taking a swig from the bottle, then handed it to his brother. Charlie did likewise, rolling it around in his mouth before he swallowed. "Hot damn, that's good! I'm not stoppin' till I get to Dodge, and then I'm gettin' me a bottle of the good stuff and the prettiest whore in the whole damn town, an' I'm not gettin' outta that bed till I can't git it up no more."

Homer waggled his fingers at the bottle, and his brother corked it and tossed it back. Homer gave him a sour look before taking a drink. "Damn good thing you didn't drop it, pecker head!" He glanced over at Christine sitting at the base of the tree and licked his lips. "Long way to go for tail, brother. Your hoss's legs will drop off before ya git there...'less yer takin' the train."

He went to his saddle bags and removed a pouch holding jerked beef. He walked unsteadily over to Christine and squatted down in front of her, waving the jerky in her face. "Hungry?" She made no move to take it from him, and he grabbed her hand and wrapped her fingers around it. "Eat...we don't want you passin' out on us."

He gave her a thoughtful look. "You really are a pretty little thing. Or you were before ya made me give you a smack. Whass yer name?"

"Christine." she said in a low voice, refusing to meet his eyes.

He put a hand out to touch her cheek and she pulled away from him...he laughed as she tried to maintain her distance, then he stood up, his movements disjointed from the whisky. They built a small campfire from gathered wood, then sat and passed a fresh bottle back and forth. Christine, by now exhausted, curled up at the base of the tree and tried to rest with one eye on the two men. She had eaten the dried beef, revolted at the rancid and stringy taste, but needing something in her stomach, and wished now for some water with which to wash it down. She had been hot all day from the relentless sun and now she was shivering with cold. She looked at the scant fire with longing, but was afraid of getting closer to the men. Homer kept glancing over at her...she had never been so frightened in her life. Her one hope was that bottle of whisky...maybe they would drink till they passed out, then she could crawl away in the darkness and try to escape them.

She must have dozed; she awoke with a start when a hand touched her shoulder and the other covered her mouth. She tried to scream, but the hard, calloused palm pressed down even more.

"Shh...I'm not gonna hurt yeh any. You looked cold over here all 'lone." he whispered, his breath fanning her cheek, hot and foul...he reeked of whisky and sour sweat. She felt her belly heave. Homer's hand slid down her shoulder and cupped a breast, squeezing it cruelly.

"Oh...you feel good." he crooned, his voice thick with desire.

She started to struggle as he pressed against her and fumbled with the buttons on his pants. Her thrashing only seemed to inflame him as he worked to get her dress and petticoats out of his way. He was able to slide one hand beneath her clothing, and Christine cried out, when she felt rough fingers pushing through the slit in her drawers, and entering her painfully. "Mm...I found your honey pot, darlin'." She bit down hard on his other hand tasting blood, causing him to jerk back with an oath. Christine fought him with a strength born from desperation...she came at him with her nails, aiming for his eyes and a laugh exploded from him. "Why...this kitten is usin' her claws," and he reared back to hit her, but never got the chance.

Something settled around his neck and pulled so tightly he immediately started to choke. He was yanked backward savagely, strange and horrible gargling noises coming from him, his boot heels drumming frantically on the hard ground. All the while he tried to get hold of the thing cutting into his throat, but a quick snap and his movements abruptly stilled.

Christine whimpered at the sound of the man's death throes, and shocked, took the opportunity to scoot backward away from what was happening. Erik turned in time to see Charlie, who had been dozing near the smoldering fire, pulling his weapon out...in a blur of motion, his own gun was in his hand and he fired, striking the robber in the shoulder. With a yell of pain, Charlie grabbed the bloody wound, blubbering at what was approaching him. He'd never seen the likes of it, and in his fear, he felt his bladder give way, the warm urine soaking the front of his pants. The nightmarish vision with glowing jack-o'-lantern eyes came closer and he screamed.

"Which of you hit her? Tell me now; it won't change the outcome, but it can be quick or it can be exceedingly slow...and very painful." Erik said through clenched teeth, but disregarding his own words, a fury such as he'd never known, rose up and governed his movements. He grabbed the man's shirtfront and backhanded him hard across the mouth, splitting Homer's lip. Not getting any satisfaction from it, he hit him again and again, until the man's face was bloody and raw, his nose likely broken as well, for it listed severely to one side, swelling horribly. Erik chuckled at the sight and flexed his bruised knuckles.

Charlie was sobbing and scrabbling away from what was staring at him so malevolently. He forced the words out of his broken and bloody mouth. "Mm...my...my b-brother! N-Not me...not me! I wouldn't hit no woman!" he cried, his voice sounding stuffed and strange coming from his broken nose.

Erik stopped and tilted his head, looking curiously at the wounded man. "Ah, I _see_...you would not hit a woman, but you simply watched as someone else did, no?"

He observed the man a moment longer, enjoying the fear shining from his eyes, then sighed. "But unfortunately for you...not just _any_ woman. _She_ happens to be mine."

Charlie continued to cry, not a single vestige of dignity left to him; events had happened so rapidly, he was left with only one question, for he realized he would find no mercy here. "W-Who are you?"

Amazingly, it was amusement which shone from the hellish eyes of his judge and executioner. "Why...I'm the angel of death."

He observed the man a moment longer, enjoying his fright and then said quietly. "Your last journey begins," and raising his revolver, he fired, putting a bullet between the man's eyes. The body slumped to the ground, and he quickly holstered his gun and went back to Christine, who had gained her feet and was slowly backing away from him.

"Christine?" he said softly, one gloved hand held out in front of him, moving very carefully toward her. "It's me, Christine...Erik. You are safe now, child."

She stopped and took a good look at him, noting the black mask and the wide dark hat pulled low over his eyes...eyes that glowed amber in the darkness, and the man's voice was unquestionably that of her maestro. In her panic she hadn't noticed anything about her avenging angel, except for how quickly and methodically he'd killed the two brothers...and without a second thought. Much like the Phantom. She shook her head wearily. _This_ was her teacher. Impossible.

"Erik." she said flatly, stating it without emotion, simply acknowledging it as fact. For a moment, she actually thought he'd tracked her down because she'd missed her lesson. _Bad Christine! __How many times has he told you? Never, ever be late._ She snorted a laugh, which swiftly became a sob.

"Yes, dear. I've come to take you home." he said gently.

Her face started to lose its blankness, and he watched as her lips began to tremble and her eyes filled with tears. Another sob was forced from her throat, and putting her hands to her face, she started to cry in earnest. She felt his thin arms around her and she leaned into his safe embrace, sobbing out her fear and terror onto his chest. He murmured soothing words of comfort, and with a hesitant unpracticed touch, he stroked her matted hair, knowing this would haunt her to the end of her days. Christine finally raised her bruised and tear stained face to his.

"I-I was so very frightened. They-shot that p-poor man, and...and the...and the blood..." She fell silent, realizing in horror that she was surrounded by death and _he_ had caused it. She hastily stepped back, using both palms to wipe her wet cheeks, yelping when she rubbed the cut on her cheekbone. She was shivering and her teeth chattered, making it difficult to form words. He removed his long coat and wrapped her in it, then led her some twenty feet away and sat her down on a log nearby.

"I'm going to get a fire going. Rest." He touched her shoulder lightly and started gathering wood. Within minutes, he had a warm blaze going near Christine's log. Once it was burning steadily, he put a coffee pot to the side filled with water to boil. She rested her head tiredly on her knees, comforted by the calm and deliberate sounds of her teacher moving about. Until she heard the noise of bodies being dragged away, and the digging of shallow graves begin. She began to shiver again and couldn't stop.

Exhausted, she must have dozed, for Erik was kneeling in front of her with a steaming cup held in one hand. "Drink this, Christine, then lay down by the fire and try to sleep."

She sipped the coffee...it was burning hot and strong, and it spread welcome warmth through her belly. He watched her for a few minutes, then reached out to her cheek and gently stroked above the cut. Closing her eyes, she unconsciously leaned into his hand, feeling safe with him near.

"I have some salve in my saddlebags." But he didn't move away, only regarded her steadily. "I must ask this, dear...did either one of them...get to you?"

She flinched, but she knew what he was asking her. "No." she whispered. But it had been a very close thing. If her maestro hadn't arrived...

The coffee that had tasted good a minute ago, turned to bitter acid, and she dropped the cup, splashing herself with the burning liquid. She lurched to her feet, and stumbled to the ground a few feet away and retched helplessly, sobbing...feeling Homer's rough fingers inside her again. She felt Erik's cold hand on her back, and when she was done, he handed her a cup of water.

"Rinse out your mouth." he said gently.

When she had done so, he led her back to his bedroll. Christine lay down, her teacher covering her with a blanket, and she watched him closely as he wrapped it snugly around her. She noted his black shirt and trousers, a gun sitting low on his left hip, and the butt of it poking out of the holster as he knelt in front of her. She struggled to sit up.

"Wait, Erik. Your coat! _You_ need it...I don't...I have the blanket. I-It's cold out here. Please take it back!"

He shook his head at her, his hands lingering on her arms. "I'm fine, dear girl. Lie still and rest."

But she looked again at his thin shoulders, and sitting up, she struggled to remove his coat, determined that he would get it back. It never occurred to her that he was much stronger than he looked; a fact that she was quite aware of already, but in her present state of mind, she wanted only to see to his comfort as well.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, he allowed her to remove his coat, giving her a half irritated, half tender look when she urged him into it, and to please her he shrugged it on. "There! Satisfied now?" he said affectionately as he walked over to the horses, and removed a small jar from his saddlebags. He came back to the fire and knelt down in front of her removing the lid, and began to gently smear the paste across her sunburned face and cut cheek. He sat back on his heels and looked at his handiwork, then rose to his feet, and quickly unsaddled the mare, leading her to the stream for a drink of cool water. When he'd tied her with the other horses he came back to the fire and sat down beside Christine. She had watched him steadily, keeping him in sight as much as she was able.

"The sunburn will fade in time, and I don't think that will scar," he said, indicating her cut cheek. "Rest now."

She nodded wearily and tried closing her eyes, but as soon as she did, the violent images were there and waiting for her. "I can't close my eyes, Erik! "I-I'm afraid to close my eyes!" He heard the panic in her voice.

He looked at Christine with concern, then sat down beside her and began to sing a folk song he was familiar with...it was nonsense, but the soothing timbre of his voice calmed her like nothing could...she listened to the beauty of it, already feeling herself relaxing a little. Her lids grew heavy and her shivering had finally stopped...she was warm and safe because _he _was with her. She slept.

She slowly opened her eyes and looked at him as he sat near the fire poking it with a stick...the flames reacted to it, and climbed higher, limning her teacher in the firelight. She could only see his thin back as he stayed bent over the fire. She felt such warmth and gratitude toward him and his protection of her.

"Erik?" she said softly. As he slowly turned to her, she smiled, thinking he looked quite different now, more like one of those hard dangerous men she would see every so often in town. The kind most people stepped aside for rather than invoke their anger...men with cold, deadly eyes.

He was taking forever to turn around, and she smiled in anticipation as his face came into view. And when it finally did, she screamed in terror. And screamed.

His face was covered in blood; so much blood...his mouth was thinned even more than it normally was, in a rictus of agony, and she struggled once again to sit up, wrapped tightly as she was in the blanket, reaching out for him...still screaming.

"Hush, my love. Hush." He pulled her into his arms, pressing her head to his shoulder and rocked her back and forth, one hand threaded through her matted curls. "It's just a dream. A bad dream. I'm here...it's all right. Shh..."

She clutched handfuls of his shirt in her small fists, her heart galloping in her chest, the dream still terrifyingly vivid. She put a hesitant hand on the cheek of his mask to which he cringed slightly, but she continued to feel her way around, and to his credit he let her. Finally she was satisfied that it was just a dream, and he was all right. He continued to hold her, loath to break the contact, and she was quite content to let him.

"Want to tell me about it?" he asked her quietly.

She shuddered, not wanting the words to leave her mouth, superstitiously thinking that once they reached the air they would become real. Her mind was foggy, still battling with the harsh reality of what she'd seen and heard. She shook her head emphatically, only wanting the comfort of his arms around her...that's all that she required.

At last he started to pull away from her, but she held on that much tighter to his shirt. "Please, Erik," and she gave him a tug closer. Not letting go of her, he leaned back against the saddle at the head of his bedroll, settling her beside him, his arms still encircling her. She reached out and pulled the blanket over them both, and Erik, in a state of shock at this development, lay very still, nearly shaking in his boots at the lovely weight in his arms. He very carefully let go of her, and pulled his revolver out of the holster and placed it beside him on the ground within easy reach, then slowly curled his arm back around her. Cautiously, he touched the cheek of his mask to the top of her head, and with a deep sigh, he rested it there, not daring to move anymore than necessary. He wanted to remember every minute of this sweet torture. He would not sleep at all tonight.

Christine was becoming drowsy. Her head rested on his bony shoulder, one hand curled again in his shirt, and it was surprisingly comfortable wrapped in his arms this way. But as she lay there, the wheels of her mind refused to stop spinning, and without moving a muscle or giving herself away, she realized who was holding her so very close. After the last sixteen hours, it hardly mattered to her anymore. It was best to try and keep things in perspective. She rubbed her good cheek against the fabric of his shirt, soothed at the thudding of his heartbeat, and feeling safe, she let sleep take her once more.

The next morning, just before they mounted their horses for home, Erik had pulled her crushed and sorry looking hat out of his saddlebags. "I found this quite a ways back...it's hardly practical, no? But I'll see what can be done with it." She nodded and took it from him, staring at it as though it was an object she'd never seen before. He had fashioned a head covering from a strip of blanket and her once-pretty hat, then stepped back and studied it. "Not the height of fashion you're used to, but it'll do." She was already sunburned and any more would cause her to fall ill. He made frequent stops on the way back...Christine was up on one of the robbers' horses, and Erik led the other.

She bit her lip often on the ride home...she was raw from from the hasty flight yesterday, but once again, her teacher had known what to do. He'd handed her the small pot of salve after smearing it gently over her cut cheek and sunburned face again, then directed her to use it anywhere else on her body abraded from her ride. He'd stepped away to give her some privacy and she'd grabbed his arm. "No."

He took her hand and held it for a few moments, running his thumb over the back of it, still reliving the unparalleled thrill of holding her in his arms all night, then pointed to where the horses were tethered. "I'll be right over there saddling the horses, Christine. Within calling distance should you need me...all right?" he said patiently.

She reluctantly nodded and he walked away from her. With a harsh sigh, she had gone behind a tree and tended to her hurts.

She glanced at him now as he rode beside her, his long body slouched and easy in the saddle, but his eyes never ceased their study of the land surrounding them. The realization had come to her last night when she had awakened in a panic from her nightmare, and he had been there to calm her fears. She felt dull and stupid that she hadn't figured it out after he confessed to being Poman. Maybe subconsciously, she'd always known. But there it was.

She looked over at him once again, studying this thin, absolutely dangerous man, who could be as tender as any woman could wish.

"I won't ever tell anyone who you are, Erik." she said quietly. "I owe you my life, for I think they would have killed me eventually. Once..." She took a deep breath. "Once they were through with me."

To his credit, he didn't seem surprised that she'd figured it out finally. "What led you to that conclusion?"

"Do you deny it?" she challenged him.

He grunted. "No. I don't deny it. Just curious, that's all."

"All right then. T-The way you...the thing you used on Homer to ch-choke him. Phantom was known to use the same thing. And...and Charlie..."

She stopped, unable to continue. She bit her lip hard and looked off in the distance, forcing the sounds and violent images into a very dark corner of her mind, praying they would stay there.

"Does it change how you view me, Christine?" he asked her softly.

He was nothing like her fantasy of the Phantom...the childish crush of a naïve girl was gone, but in a way he was more. His clothes were dusty from his hard ride, and he should be weary, but he never faltered. He was the exact opposite of handsome, but she didn't know anyone more capable than him. He amazed her in his ability to go from refined gentleman to hardened gunman in the blink of an eye. She had never known anyone quite like him and probably never would again.

She shook her head. "I always knew you would protect the weak even when you denied it. You _do_ have a sense of justice, you just won't admit it. It's never been for the money alone, has it?"

Under the shadow of his hat, she saw the slight gleam of his eyes...eyes that had a tendency to disappear in the bright light of day, and he barked a bitter laugh. "If you think I would have come after anyone else, Christine, then you, my dear, are addlepated _and_ delusional."

She shook her head wearily. "But you came after me so swiftly...I-I thought..."

He sighed heavily and removed his hat for a moment, allowing an errant breeze to ruffle his black hair. "I think you know the answer to that." he said quietly.

She said nothing more, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. Erik searched the land in front of them, wanting to stay well away from the sheriff and his men. Since coming to St. Joseph, he'd kept a low profile and he wished that to continue. Dodging others had become second nature to him, and a mile outside town, they rested the horses one last time and waited until dark, then they would climb the bluff to Broad St.

"Erik?" She sat in the shade from a few stunted trees, drinking from his canteen, and eating a dry biscuit he'd given her. Their argument from the other evening had been on her mind for a while.

He was tightening the girths on the horses and didn't look at her. "Yes?"

"Well...I." She stopped, not sure how to proceed, so she took a sip of water, trying to gather her thoughts. She put the cap back on the canteen and set it in her lap.

She cleared her throat and looked up at her maestro, who had turned and was watching her warily. "I just wanted you to know...I...ah...want you to know, that _no one_ could have taught me better than you did. And um...I-I'm not going to the conservatory after all. As you pointed out...there's no reason, is there?"

She looked at him, hoping he would accept her olive branch. Her feelings for this man were confusing at best...she wouldn't willingly hurt Erik for the world, because she considered him a friend and she owed him so much. She was fairly certain that what he felt went way beyond affection, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

For his part, the mention of the conservatory brought it all rushing back. Even the sweet memory of her in his arms last night didn't change the fact that she didn't belong to him. Her aunt would see to that. The darkness that always hovered over him reared up, and he heaved a sigh and shook his head wearily. "I do appreciate the sentiment...really, I do. But you were right, Christine. You should go to St. Louis...learning is something that never stops, and music is not my prerogative...others can teach you as well." He regarded her steadily for a moment. "I think you must realize by now the choice isn't all yours to make. Your aunt will insist on it, I believe."

She was surprised at his reaction, which was so different from two nights ago."B-But you were upset with me for wanting to go before. I don't understand. What's changed?"

"Nothing has changed." he said impatiently. "You've planned on going there long before I started teaching you. It...was wrong of me to try and influence you to stay, and I'm...sorry for causing you any distress. So just forget I said anything. All right?"

It occurred to her that she could be wrong about his feelings for her. Erik was hard to read most of the time...except when he was yelling at her. Then he was easy to understand, she thought wryly. But last night she had shared something with him she'd never experienced before...a man's arms around her for the very first time. And to her, it felt right and natural. Maybe he wasn't in love with _her_ so much...maybe it was her voice he cherished. Enough to come after her. Loved it enough to want to take all the credit for making it soar. It didn't matter _why_ he came after his songbird...she was grateful and always would be.

"Thank you, Phantom." she said softly.

He merely nodded, not looking at her, and continued tugging on his leather gloves. She felt changed somehow, no longer quite as innocent as she'd been, and she glanced at his masked face, seeing _him_ in a different light. He had risked his life to come after her, and in Christine's mind, that gave him a special place in her heart. That, he would always have. He helped her up onto her horse, and mounting his, they rode home under the cover of darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Three days after the robbery which had taken the life of his long time employee, the manager of the Commerce Bank, Andrew Smith, unlocked the front door of his establishment. He was still reeling from the death of Albert Reardon, his cashier for twelve years, and the theft of a considerable amount of money. Another month and work would begin on the addition to the bank that would house the new time-lock vault. Once it was finished, the teller or even himself would not be able to access the vault until a specified number of hours had elapsed. Sadly, that wouldn't help Al or his widow.

But at least the young Daae woman had somehow escaped from the killers and made it home with the help of a good Samaritan. He had delivered her back to her aunt, then mysteriously rode away. She had obviously been traumatized and wouldn't say much about her ordeal, _or_ her rescuer...she had explained to the sheriff that the robbers had consumed a lot of liquor and she had made her escape that night when they had both gone to sleep. After wandering a good deal of the night, her savior had found her by accident the next morning, and had led her back to St. Joe. Smith thought there were some fairly large holes in her story, and the sheriff no doubt felt the same, but the young woman was home safe and that's all that mattered.

He went to his office and was surprised upon opening his door, to find a sheet of paper on his desk propped against the lamp.

He hurriedly read the words written in red ink: _This should make you a good deal happier and put paid to this entire misadventure. The money that was stolen from your bank is back where it belongs._

Smith immediately went to the vault behind the teller's cage and used the combination. What he found inside, left him in a state of shock and he immediately sent for Sheriff Dawes. Both men were left scratching their heads at the neat bundle of paper currency, bonds, gold and silver coin, which added up to the $15,467.00 that had been stolen from the bank just two days before. Someone had broken into the bank and _returned_ the money. Someone with a deft hand at safe combinations. Except for the teller's death, the ordeal had ended in a much better light than it should have. It was indeed a mystery. The whereabouts of the robbers would always remain unanswered and the story was told and retold until it passed into legend.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

The story that Christine gave the sheriff was one that Erik had told her to say. His part in her ordeal was completely missing...only three people knew the truth of the matter, and they'd resolved that it would remain that way forever.

She rested in her bedroom, slowly recovering from her kidnapping. Her prolonged exposure to the sun, plus her sores from the long ride she'd had forced on her, would keep her on bed-rest for a few days, doctor's orders and fully backed by her aunt and Hannah. Meg kept her company and to the best of her ability, the younger girl kept her curiosity to herself. Her family was told the same story as the sheriff and Christine preferred it that way. Her aunt and Hannah had no choice but to believe in a mysterious good Samaritan. Her teacher had helped her dismount near her house, and leaving the horses just off the road, he walked her to the kitchen door. Just before she went inside, she'd had the impulse to put her arms around him. It was an urge that she couldn't deny herself, and she gave very little thought as to the why of it.

She'd slid her arms around his narrow waist and hugged him tightly, briefly resting her head on his chest. "I'll never forget what you did for me. Ever." Then before he could react properly, she was gone, and with a ragged sigh, he'd wearily gone back for the horses and then home.

The reunion with her family was tearful, and Christine was surprised when her aunt had cried at the sight of her bruised and sunburned face. Hannah had started a bath for her, and while she stripped out of her soiled clothes, the myriad questions had flown, and to the best of her ability, she'd fielded them, using the story her teacher had cooked up.

After her bath, she'd been bundled into a nightgown and given a light supper. Dr. Pierce had been sent for, but Edna had decided that the sheriff could wait until the next day. The doctor had prescribed a cream for her burns and cuts; he insisted that a few days in bed would see her health fully returned. Christine had to agree...free movement was painful at the moment. Hannah shooed Meg out of the room and showed the doctor to the door. Her aunt sat down in the chair by the window and regarded her silently for a moment.

"Christine...I know you're tired and sore, but I need to know if those...if those _men_, hurt you in any way other than what that _beast_ did to you," and she gestured to her niece's cheek. "Did they put their hands on you in an intimate manner?"

Christine had lowered her gaze and smoothed the bedclothes over her lap. "Dr. Pierce asked me the same thing, Auntie. And the answer is n-no." It had been a humiliating experience; lying there while the middle-aged doctor examined flesh that no one but herself had ever seen...the tender skin of her thighs, raw and flayed from her forced ride cross-country, and an embarrassment at the questions he'd posed to her.

She would have liked to tell her aunt the truth; that, yes...one of them _had_ been offensive, had demeaned her and tried to take something that wasn't his to receive. But that would lead to more questions, so she wearily shook her head and told her aunt there had been no violence except for her cut cheek.

Her aunt had tucked her in and Christine had surprisingly slept the night through, thanks mostly to her maestro. She had lain in bed fighting sleep, afraid to close her eyes, when she heard the piano music drifting through her open window. She knew he was playing for her and felt the grateful tears as she listened once again to a master. It wasn't his arms around her, but the soothing melody from his fingers was as good as his gentle touch. Well...almost. Her sleep that night was peaceful.

Upon waking the next morning, she found Hannah standing by her bed holding a familiar small jar. "You've had your first visitor of the day. My, but news travels fast around here!" She set the pot of salve down and went around the room putting things away.

Christine pushed herself up in bed and yawned. "All right. Must I _guess_ who my visitor was, Hannah?" She indicated the salve on her nightstand. "Mm...I'm guessing...Nadir." She grinned. "How did I do?"

The housekeeper smiled. "Right direction...wrong man. Nadir left early this morning, and won't be back for a few days. It was Erik. And he wants you to use that salve wherever you need it. He said it's soothing on burns...wonder what's in it?"

"Sap from something called an aloe vera plant is one ingredient. He said it..." Christine stopped, realizing she was showing prior knowledge of something that wasn't supposed to have taken place. She coughed and gestured at the jar. "H-He gave me some once when I b-burned myself on some, um...very hot tea."

Hannah looked hard at Christine and shrugged. "Can't hurt then. Use it."

She sat up and swung her legs slowly over the side of the bed. "How is he this morning?" she said casually, not looking at the housekeeper.

"Worried about you. He can be a bit aloof, but when it concerns you, he manages very well to communicate." she said dryly.

She left to get the young woman's breakfast and Christine picked up the pot of salve and started to apply it.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Three days after her teacher brought her home, Christine couldn't take it anymore and climbed out of bed. "I'll go crazy if I have to stay on my back any longer." she told Meg.

She threw her dressing gown on and walked stiffly over to the chair near the window. She leaned her head back and rested her eyes on Archer House. She turned and looked soberly at the younger woman. "You've been very patient with me, Meggie. I know you're dying to hear the whole story."

Meg started to protest, then stopped, looking sheepishly at her. "Was I _that_ obvious?"

Christine continued her study of Archer's, the third story tower room in particular. "No," she said softly. "Not at all, but if it had been you taken hostage instead of me, I would have wanted to know." She looked at Meg then. "I want to tell you and once I do, I'll never speak of it again."

"You don't have to, Christine. I understand."

The young woman shook her head. "You're my best friend, Meg."

They sat there with the afternoon sunshine pouring through the windows, and she told Meg of her predicament, from the moment she'd walked into the bank until she'd arrived home. Telling her friend was cathartic for Christine, and even if there were huge gaps in her story, it felt good to speak of it. She felt no wrong withholding the full story...she was simply protecting Erik's part in it.

Nightmares weren't entirely absent when she slept, and at first, she was afraid to close her eyes. The first night she'd been back in her own bed, she lay there, the quiet of the house settling around her, making its usual creaks and groans...sounds she was used to and now welcomed much like a dear friend. Her thoughts drifted with ease to her teacher as they so often did, and she felt his arms around her again. She hugged herself pretending they were _his_ arms, remembering how safe she'd felt with him when she'd been so terrified. She had awakened from a nightmare that awful night...the details of the dream had faded, but she became uneasy when the image of his bloody face leapt into her mind. She shuddered, and recalled waking up in his tight embrace, her panic calmed by his very presence, and how tenderly he'd cradled her. He'd comforted her the best he knew how, murmuring soothing words...

She furrowed her brow in thought. He'd said something to her. _What was it?_ The words he'd spoken were lost in the detritus of a mind forced into coping with too much, and they wouldn't come now, but the memory of his _voice_ when he'd spoken them was easily recalled. So soft and caring...unlike anything she'd ever heard from her teacher.

Finally after a few more days of inactivity, she was given permission to leave her room. She felt like herself once again and strove to put her ordeal behind her. There had been a steady stream of visitor's calling to inquire of Christine's health while she'd been indisposed. A pregnant Sarah Robidoux had visited for a time with Abby; Raoul and his mother had been by, leaving a basket of flowers, and many of her aunt's friends had done the same. Christine had heard angry mutterings from Hannah when she'd brought her lunch up the day before the doctor had given her a clean bill of health.

She'd looked at the housekeeper curiously. "What's wrong, Hannah?"

"It's a steady stream of visitors you have down there, young lady. Although most of them are your aunt's friends."

Christine gave her a puzzled look. "Why does that upset you?" She pointed to a basket of red geraniums and glanced at the boxes of candy and cookies, then smiled. "They come bearing gifts, though. Take some, Hannah."

The housekeeper looked at the young woman with a grim smile. "Yes, bearing gifts and big ears. They want information, Christine. Whatever your aunt can tell them, which isn't much. She would never discuss what you just went through with anyone, especially those old tabbies!"

"Hannah...you believe me, don't you? I mean...everything I told the sheriff was true." The young woman stared at the housekeeper with pleading eyes.

"Oh yes, I believe you. The only thing you left out was the identity of the man who found you." she said shrewdly.

"B-But I never found out his name, I swear!" Christine said louder than she'd planned, cringing a little at her lie.

Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed and looked searchingly at Christine. "It doesn't take a brain as smart as your teacher's got, to figure out that Erik was your good Samaritan." She smiled with amusement at the younger woman. "You've always been a terrible liar, you and Meg both. And it's plain to me that you're protecting someone."

Christine shook her head emphatically. "No, Hannah. You're wrong. Besides, who told you that...Nadir?" Her face which was still slightly pink from sunburn, reddened even more, only this time it was with indignation.

Hannah saw the younger woman's displeasure and smiled gently. "He never said a word...he wouldn't either, Lord love him. At least Erik has two people loyal to him...don't suppose he's seen very much of that in his lifetime...well, three now, including myself. But Nadir is the one who came over with the news that you'd been taken. If he knew, so would your teacher, and _that_ man would have moved Heaven and Earth to get you back."

Christine said nothing for a long time. She glanced out the window for a moment, then up at Hannah, having made up her mind what to say. She trusted the housekeeper and knew she would keep their secret. "Very well." she said at last. "It _was_ Erik, but no one is to ever know that, Hannah. They would hound him. I know they would, and he wouldn't stand for that and neither would I."

"Child, you don't have to tell me to keep quiet. But I never would have thought him capable of riding after you and getting you away from those killers the way he did. Almost the same as the Phantom would..." she trailed off, looking at Christine with wide eyes. "But that's not possible, is it?" she said in a faint voice.

"No, Hannah. Not at all possible. He's my voice teacher, not a bounty hunter. We were lucky to find each other that morning...I was going off in the wrong direction." Christine said firmly. She _did_ trust the older woman, but the less people who knew Erik was the Phantom, the better. She looked thoughtfully at the housekeeper. "Why is everyone so curious about me? I'm back...a little worse for wear, but alive and whole."

"Because some folks in this town like to imagine the worst." She stopped when Christine turned away and looked out the window again. "I'm sorry, Christine, but that's one aspect of human nature that never changes. The need for gossip in this small town is sometimes insatiable." Hannah sighed wearily. "It _will_ die down eventually, so don't fret. The old biddies will have someone else in their sights before too long." She pointed to a small package on the lunch tray. "That was in the mail today."

Christine picked up the package. "I sent for this nearly two months ago. It's a gift for Erik." she said softly. She set it back down and looked at Archer House again. "It's very little for all that he's done for me."

Hannah nodded and pointed at the bowl of soup. "Eat that while it's still hot."

After she left, Christine opened the package to reveal a thin gray box about four inches long. Removing the lid, she stared at the sterling silver cravat pin with a single blue sapphire, then looked at the third story tower of Archer House. "I think it's time I resumed my lessons." she whispered.

She was in the parlor with her aunt the very next afternoon, happy to leave her soft prison at last, and had to carefully answer questions when more visitors came to the house. Among them, Sheriff Dawes and Raoul. They arrived at nearly the same time, and Hannah led them both into the parlor.

"Christine! I'm so glad to see you!" Raoul said, as he strode forward and sat down beside her on the settee. He studied her carefully, finding her to be much the same, except for the slight redness that remained on her hands and face, and a newly healed cut on one delicate cheekbone. There was talk in town about her ordeal, and not all of it was kind. He had nearly been involved in a fight with one lout, who'd suggested that she'd been used by the pair of killers. It had shocked him at the salacious attitude of many people, and not just the men. If he'd known sooner that she'd been taken, he would have gone himself to look for her.

"How are you feeling?" he said now, watching her face closely.

"Much, much better. Just happy that I don't have to stay in my room any more." she said, giving him a sweet smile, but she glanced up when Sheriff Dawes cleared his throat.

"Miss Daae, may I have a word with you in private?" The sheriff stood there, a little uncomfortable, not wanting to bother the young woman any longer, but Smith was urging him to question her one more time. Dawes thought it would lead nowhere; besides, the money had been returned, and although they all had questions, if the girl refused to answer them he couldn't force her...she hadn't broken any laws.

Edna looked sternly at the sheriff. "That's quite unnecessary. What you have to say to my niece needn't exclude me. I'm sure you understand." Then she turned to Raoul. "Forgive me, Mr. de Chagny for making you leave when you've only just arrived, but it appears Sheriff Dawes has some concerns that need addressed. Perhaps another day would be better for a prolonged visit?"

Raoul immediately stood and turned to Christine. "Another time then. I'm happy to find you well," and they bid each other goodbye, both disappointed that they couldn't spend a little more time together.

Christine's aunt indicated a chair for the sheriff and sat there regally, folding her hands demurely in her lap. "Now then, Sheriff Dawes. What do you wish to say to my niece?"

Christine had been tense ever since the sheriff had walked into the room. He was of an average height, lean and in his late forties, a curt man, prone to getting right to the heart of a matter, and not content to beat around the bush. He glanced at Edna, then turned to Christine and smiled, trying to put the young woman at ease.

"I just want to hear your story again, if you don't mind, Miss Daae." He leaned forward in anticipation, and Christine had no choice but to do as he asked.

And so once again she told the tale Erik had given her. When she was through, Edna looked at Christine's drawn face and said a little shortly. "Very well. You've heard it once more. Now if you don't mind, why is it so important to you, that she has to be bothered like this yet again? Have you found the miscreants who did this? _She_ was kidnapped from the bank, Sheriff! She didn't rob it! _They_ did!"

"I know, I know, Ma'am. Simmer down now...she's not in any trouble. You see...three days after the bank was robbed, the bank manager found a note someone put on his desk indicating that the stolen money was back in the bank vault." He set his hat on his knee and sighed. "It was exactly that, too. All of it was back in the vault with no sign of forced entry or damage done to the bank vault itself." He shook his head and stared at the floor, as if trying to make sense out of the flower pattern of the carpet.

"But how was it possible, I ask you? I've heard tell of men with the know-how to open a locked safe, and now I've witnessed it myself." He scratched his head. "Can you tell me _anything_...anything at all, Miss? This man who found you wandering around that morning...can you give me a better description? You said he was short and heavy-set with a beard. Any idea of his age? Any scars or marks on his body anywhere?"

Christine gazed steadily at him, but was thinking of Erik and his promise to her. They had just reached the bluff above town the night he had returned her home...Christine was exhausted and her maestro kept giving her sharp looks, worried about her. But something had occurred to her on the road home, and she felt that it was imperative that she know.

"Erik?" He swung his masked face toward her; the preternatural glow of his eyes no longer bothered her. It was normal now...for her teacher, that is. "The money they stole...where is it?"

He stared at her until she'd looked down at the reins gripped in her two hands. The very act of riding astride and controlling a horse, even a fairly docile one like her mount, had inevitably tired her.

"What? Do you wish to split it with me?" he said with a slight quirk of his lips, which signified her teacher's idea of levity. Christine always found it oddly endearing.

She glanced at him again and said tartly, "Are you telling me that you have it?" At his slight nod, she continued. "It's the town's money...m-my aunt's money...Hannah's and mine. And yours, and ...and even Nadir's. You _are_ returning it, aren't you, Maestro?"

"The daroga doesn't keep his money in the Commerce Bank." he said with a snort. "The old goat keeps it under his mattress...in one of his socks that's seen better days. And my funds are drawn from a bank in St. Louis." But his eyes softened as they roamed over her tired face. "However," and he had leaned down and placed his gloved hand on top of hers, suddenly wanting nothing more than to feel her skin against his. "Calm yourself. I have every intention of returning the money to the bank. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes, it does. But how?"

She was so relieved, she turned her hand over, grasping his long fingers with hers, and they rode their horses at a walk, hands clasped tightly together. Erik stared at their joined hands, fighting the urge to bring that small hand to his almost non-existent lips. Instead he drew in a deep breath and held her hand a little bit tighter.

He wagged his head at her. "A magician does not give up his secrets so easily, my dear. You must trust your Erik, no?"

And she had...this was the proof. Her teacher remained an enigma to her...more a force of nature than a mere man. At times, she had looked at him in wonderment, but he'd accomplished what he'd promised her. How he'd done it was what had her in a state of bafflement.

And so she answered Sheriff Dawes at least _somewhat_ truthfully. "His face was covered by that scruffy beard, so I couldn't make out any of his features ...except that his eyes were very dark." She shrugged her small shoulders. "How the money was found back in the safe, is something I have no clue about...but I would truly like to know the answer to that myself, sir." She regarded him steadily and held a look of innocence on her face, until with a sigh of defeat, he stood up.

"You are a very brave young lady to have kept your wits about you and escaped when the chance presented itself.

"And lucky that you were found by someone willing to come to your aid." he added.

"Yes, very lucky. I wish I could find a way of thanking him properly." she said in a soft voice.

Hannah showed him out and Christine looked hesitantly at her aunt. "I would like to continue my lessons with Mr. Archer this evening, Auntie. Do you give your permission?"

This surprised Edna. "So soon, Christine? You've only just left your room. What if he's not expecting you?"

"Then I'll come back home. Please...may I?"

Her aunt finally nodded and the young woman gave her a warm hug. "Thank you," and she kissed one powdered cheek.

Edna patted her hand. "A return to normalcy is exactly what you need. Just don't overdo it...all right?"

Christine nodded. "I won't. He wouldn't let me." she said simply.

She was about to leave, when her aunt put a hand on her arm. "The returned money. _Do_ you know how it got back in the safe, niece?"

Christine met Edna's look without blinking. "No. I do not," and she met her aunt's questioning gaze, saying truthfully, "It's more like magic, isn't it?"

Edna dropped her hand, smiling faintly. "No such thing. But of course _you_ wouldn't know how it got back in that safe! Why don't you rest for a while before dinner. You seem a little tired to me." The young woman nodded and left the room.

She watched her niece leave, wondering how anyone could truly believe Christine's tale. To think a good Samaritan just happened to find her niece stumbling around that morning, miles from nowhere, provided her with an extra horse he just happened to have, and selflessly brought her back to St. Joe, which was no doubt miles out of his way, and then conveniently disappeared was the height of absurdity. And then the sheriff shows up and tells them the stolen money has gone from the clutches of the bandits, and been miraculously returned by someone familiar with the vault combination.

What a farradiddle!

But whoever came up with this scenario, and she had her suspicions, was smart enough to realize, that it couldn't be proven...or disproven, for that matter. It would be impossible to find someone who doesn't exist. Yes, she had her suspicions, but that's as far as it would go, for her niece had been returned to her...and she was very thankful to him.

Christine went straight to her room where she rummaged in the bottom drawer of the walnut wardrobe searching for a square white box containing colorful pieces of wrapping paper she'd saved, plus some bright ribbon. Finding the box, she set it on the bed, and selected a piece of silver paper from it and a small length of red ribbon. Wrapping it quickly, she went downstairs to the kitchen to help Hannah get dinner.

At 6:30, she left the house and walked quickly through the two yards to Archer House. She heard the honking and the cursing before she made it to the back door. Turning toward the back of the property, she watched as a furious Nadir stalked quickly over to her. She could hear him muttering in his native tongue, and he stopped abruptly when he saw her.

"Allah have mercy! It does my heart good to see you looking so well, Christine! We've been very concerned about you!"

She never hesitated, but gave him a hug, her affection for the Persian overcoming any impropriety of hugging a male not of her family. Nadir was surprised, but touched by her warmth, and gently hugged her back.

She pulled away and smiled up at him. "Thank you for the box of chocolates, Nadir. Hannah especially, enjoyed them." she said, and watched as he became uncomfortable. Grinning, she nodded toward the low stone wall at the back of the property and the path into the woods. "Taking an evening stroll with Anthony? How nice."

Nadir became angry all over again. "The only _stroll_ I wish to take with that damned...excuse me, Christine...the only stroll I wish to take with that animal, is to a chopping block! He came up behind me just moments ago and bit me on the a...uh, the leg, and Mrs. Cole doesn't appear outside unless she is armed with a broom. The damned beast...excuse me, Christine, leaves droppings everywhere on the grounds ...it's most unsafe to put a foot down." I chased him into the woods, but we should go inside before he returns. Erik is insane to keep him on the property!"

He followed her into the house. "I've come for my lesson, Nadir. Is Erik here?"

He nodded. "Yes. And he'll be very happy to see you looking so much better. He told me you were quite done in when you arrived home." He felt his anger once again bubbling to the surface, that those two miserable excuses for men had harmed the girl. His friend had made sure that they'd paid for it with their lives, but then, the Persian had known all along what the outcome would be.

"He's most likely in the tower, child. He's been there every evening I think, waiting for just this moment. Go on up."

She started up the steps, but paused on the landing to caress the head of the serene lady. "He came and got me." she whispered to the statue.

She looked at the gift in her hand. It wasn't very much to give him...he had much nicer cravat pins than this one. When she arrived at the tower door, she pushed her wayward curls away from her face, smoothed the fabric of her lilac dress and peeked in the open door. At her light tap he swung around on the bench, and she could see that he'd been composing.

"Christine!" He set the pen down on the composition paper and strode quickly across the room to her. She was very surprised to see him smiling, for it was a rare occurrence. He was becoming used to touching her, and he reached for her hands now, leading her into the room.

He looked her over carefully, satisfied with what he saw. "You look much better! Madame Jules said you were recovering nicely." He led her to a chair and settled her in it, and retreated to the piano.

"Yes, she told me you were at the back door everyday inquiring about me," she said shyly. She shook her head at him in mock sadness. "It wasn't me you were interested in, was it? It was that cobbler Hannah promised to make for you."

"Indeed. What other reason would I have, you little minx?" he said, amusement lacing his words.

Christine looked at the box in her hand, then got up and walked to where her teacher stood near the grand. She held the gift out to him. "This is for you, Maestro. It isn't what you're used to, but I hope you like it."

He stared at the box in her hand, eying it suspiciously, and making no move to take it from her. Christine's smile slowly died and the silence stretched out and became loud in its very awkwardness.

"Erik? I ...got this for you. I-It came all the way from Chicago. Please...take it," and she held it out again, but this time there was a slight tremor in her hand.

Slowly, he held his hand out, long fingers slightly curled, as if prepared to snatch them back in case the box proved to be dangerous. Christine was stunned by his strange attitude toward the gift, but she breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers finally closed on it. He looked at the box, then back at her.

"Open it." she said gently.

He nodded, and seemingly dazed, he very carefully untied the bright red ribbon and set it aside. Slowly, he pulled the silver paper away, revealing the gray box. The paper joined the ribbon, and again he only regarded the gift...making no move to open it. He glanced at Christine, the look in his eyes unreadable, but finally he lifted the lid and gazed on the stick pin with the sapphire stone.

Christine waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. "I know it...it's not much...you have much handsomer ones than that, but I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me...I can send it back if you don't like it. It's all right. I..."

"_No_!" he shouted, then caught himself. "No," in a much quieter voice. He cradled the box in one large hand, "I feel like such a fool." he said, his voice husky, "but no one has ever given me anything before. I-I don't know how to act, or what to say, except...I will treasure this _always_, Christine." He took a deep breath and said the words he couldn't recall having ever said...to anyone. "Thank you."

She felt the lump in her throat seeing the shock in his eyes at receiving his first gift. Her teacher had always been so confident in everything he did, but to see him searching for words, and confused by a gesture most took for granted, left _her_ feeling slightly mystified. She glanced up at him now, surrounded by the shadows in which he lived, and felt an enormous tenderness for him welling up.

He took the pin carefully out of its bed of cotton and rubbed it gently with the tips of his fingers, then he nearly yanked the gold pin out of his gray cravat, and tossed it onto his music sheets.

She stepped closer to him and indicated the pin in his hand. "May I?"

He said nothing, but nodded his head, and she took it from him. Reaching up, she slid it through the cool satin fabric, then unthinkingly, smoothed her hand over it, feeling the hardness of his chest underneath his waistcoat and fine linen shirt. He sucked in a breath at her proximity and gentle touch, inhaling her sweet scent. She could feel the tension in him, his nerves tightly wound.

"There!" she said, as she stepped back and looked at the pin critically, putting distance between them. "I don't know...but I think it looks very nice." she declared, her breathing a little erratic. _What caused that?_

He immediately missed her closeness to him...missed it, but feared it as well. The closer she became to him, the more tempted he was to tilt her face up to his and... He shook his head slightly, still shaken at the thought of getting a present. No one had ever considered him worthy of a gift. And to think that _she_ did.

Feeling unaccustomed joy, he recalled what he was doing before she arrived."Remember when I told you I was composing something, Christine? Well, it's finished." He nodded at the piano. "May I play it for you?"

The notion of hearing him play his own music excited her. "I would like nothing better," and she grinned at him wickedly," but I was here for a lesson. Does that mean there won't _be_ any?"

He nodded, amused at her sigh of relief, and set a chair near the grand, just like he had the first time she'd entered the tower room. "Tonight I will play for you and you shall listen, yes?" He walked over to the grand, sat down and began to play in D-flat major.

She loved watching him almost as much as she loved listening to him. He was in his natural element...to Christine, when she thought of music, it invariably brought her teacher to mind. He leaned forward, head canted to one side...she knew his eyes were closed and he was far away, lost to her in the haunting melody. It was mysterious and dark, much like Erik himself, and with a series of arpeggios which his nimble fingers handled with so much ease, he skillfully carried the melody with his right hand, the music suddenly changing. It moved seamlessly into a lighter, more delicate air to become serene and flowing, leading her to recall sunlight on water, and the beauty of a warm summer day.

So much skill, she thought as the piece reached its conclusion. When he turned, she was at his side. "Beautiful! I could see the clearing in the woods and...and the glittering water. I felt like I was walking under the trees...where it was dark and shady, then bursting into the light and seeing the willow tree bent over the little pond! I loved it. I didn't know you could write music like that! Why...it's as good as anybody's!" It was difficult for her to curb her excitement...she was in awe of him. "The clearing was your inspiration?"

"No. You were."

She was flabbergasted. "_I_ inspired _you_?"

"Very much so." He searched her face. "Why? Does that surprise you, Christine?"

She nodded. "A little, yes."

"Well, don't be. Now then, what would you like to hear? Name it." He sat there playing a simple melody, when she placed a hand hesitantly on his shoulder, causing a start of surprise from him. She began to remove it, when he slowly put his hand overtop of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Neither one of them moved for a full minute, then finally Christine took a deep breath. "Will you sing with me, Erik?"

It was what he'd dreamed of doing almost from the first time he'd heard her dulcet tones coming through his window. And to have her wanting it also, caused a warmth in his veins which he'd never known before. "Yes, of course. I would be delighted, my dear. Truly delighted."

Reluctantly, he took his hand from hers and turned back to the piano. "What would you like to sing?"

"O Divine Night...from Romeo et Juliette."

"Excellent choice," and he began to play. She kept her hand on his shoulder, unwilling to break the contact, and he felt an emotion which he could only imagine was happiness. The closest he'd ever come to it had been through music. Soon their voices were joined together, Christine's pure clear soprano, complimenting her teacher's rich and vibrant tenor, his voice causing a trickle of pure pleasure down her spine. It was heavenly.

He turned and stared up at her...their eyes locked, and for those few precious moments, no one existed but the two of them.


	15. Chapter 15

"You there! Miss Drake! Pay attention, if you please. You're not here to socialize."

Mr. Reyer gave her another stern look, as Becky turned from the girl next to her and pasted a contrite look on her face. The company was working on Cosi fan tutte and they were nearing the end of rehearsal for that day. Christine had to admit that she was getting a little restless herself. Her teacher had requested that she meet him in front of _Diana_ as soon as practice was over for the day.

She listened half-heartedly to Anthony Reyer drone on about the perils of inconsistency. She snorted to herself. She'd heard that particular lecture many times, and from a vastly better musician than their music director.

She'd come back to the opera house a month ago and picked up where she'd left off rather quickly. Most had been very supportive of her, welcoming her back with open arms, some had been frankly curious about what had happened to her. A few...namely Becky and her cronies, had been unkind, and she had been resentful at first, but she eventually accepted the spitefulness for what it was...Becky's peculiar jealousy and taken it in stride, just thankful to be back.

There had been rumors floating around the opera that Mr. Reyer wished to remove Becky from the chorus and give her a larger role in one of the next productions in the theatre. But so far, it was only talk. Another two weeks and they would have their final dress rehearsal and opening night wouldn't be far behind. Christine was Despina, the conniving maid of the two sisters in the opera. Erik had her nearly eating and breathing the role, his taskmaster ways unchanged, and to a sometimes resentful Christine, he was unrelenting.

She loved the opera house. Loved breathing its air...the smells of beeswax, sawdust and greasepaint, blended into a heady mixture. Then why was she so intent on leaving it behind? It was her dream...to be good enough to sing onstage, and with her teacher's guidance, she had accomplished that. But she'd found to her dismay, that the dream wasn't always enough. There was more to life than always living within the boundaries of St. Joe, and nearly dying hadn't changed that. On the contrary, she had become frightened at the possibility of never seeing other parts of the world, but playing out her life in the same location and never knowing what a sunrise, or for that matter a sunset, would be like in another part of the world. Of course, St. Louis wasn't all that far away itself, but she reckoned she had to start somewhere. She would miss her aunt and Hannah, no doubt about that, and Meg was like a sister to her. Raoul would be in St. Louis the same as she, and they could take those picnics they'd talked about.

Her affection for Nadir had only grown over the months...he was very dear to her. She sat down with him one recent Saturday afternoon, and he'd made good on his promise to tell her about his homeland. He was repairing the low stone wall in the back of the property that abutted the woods, and Christine, watching him from her kitchen window, had poured him a glass of lemonade with chips of ice floating around the rim and walked over. The Persian by then had worked up a sweat lifting and placing the large stones that had shifted from the years of neglect. He'd cleared the overgrown weeds away from the wall, and had a roughly ten foot section completed.

He stopped when he spied his young neighbor walking toward him, and he'd armed the sweat off his brow. He saw the glass in her hand and broke out in a grin. "It's a good thing you showed up, young woman. Now I have an excuse to stop for a few minutes." She handed him the lemonade. "You are a good child," and swallowed half of it in one gulp. "Ah...very good. Thank you." He smacked his lips and gestured at the wall. "The stones _do_ get heavy after a while."

She gave him a mischievous look. "I would have thought the maestro would be here showing you how it's done, but I don't see him anywhere," as she glanced around.

He snorted. "And you won't either. He's gone away and won't be back until Monday afternoon." Nadir sat down on the finished section of wall and patted the space beside him. "Have a seat, Christine."

She did so, a little disappointed that Erik was gone from the place, leaving it to feel strangely deserted and empty of life. Ridiculous, she thought.

"Nadir? Where does he go? He's been away before, a few times over the weekend...it's not St. Louis, is it?" she looked at the paddock beside the carriage house, and the absence of the black mare; Figaro and Nadir's buckskin gelding stood at the fence looking their way...she would get them each an apple when she returned home.

Nadir took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the back of his neck. "No, not St. Louis. He's gone to a farm near Excelsior Springs...roughly forty miles from here. He needs to run some of the kinks out of that mare, or she gets too feisty for her own good. He has some business to attend to, but don't worry he'll be home in time for your lesson."

She dug at some lichen on a wide stone with one finger. "Oh, I'm not worried. I know he'll be back in time. He's never been late. It's just so quiet when he's not here." She chuckled. "I make him sound like one of those noisy men who talks all the time without saying anything meaningful, but that's as far from the truth as anything I know. No one sees very much of him, but when he's gone..." She stopped, and looking at Nadir, she quickly changed the subject.

"Do you ever miss Iran?"

The Persian studied her a moment, wondering at her attachment to his friend. Was _she_ even aware of it? He sighed, hoping this relationship between teacher and student didn't blow up in Erik's face. And what would happen to him when Christine left for the conservatory? Christine noticed his dour look.

"Forgive me, Nadir. Hannah always says I ask too many questions."

He drained the rest of the lemonade then set the glass gently on the ground. "You may ask me anything you like, child," he said in amusement, "but I may not always give you an answer. I told you last year I would tell you about Iran, so your question is a fair one." He regarded her soberly. "And yes, I do miss it sometimes." And he told her about his town of Shiraz, at the foot of the Zagros Mountains; about the hot summers when he and the other boys his age wandered through the foothills; the trips to the colorful Vikil Bazaar, where just about anything could be had for a price. And the food. "Sometimes I think I would kill for a kabob or a glass of that good red wine I grew up with."

Christine watched him silently for a moment. "Was there ever someone special...ah, a lady friend?" He said nothing, and she thought she'd finally hit on a question he would refuse to answer.

But he nodded slowly, and watched the two geldings in the paddock. "I had a wife and daughter I loved very much. Both have been dead for many years now." he said quietly.

"I'm sorry. Hannah's right...I shouldn't pry." She sat there awkwardly, ashamed of herself. "I'll let you get back to work."

He looked up at her, a trace of the old pain in his dark eyes. "My daughter's name was Adileh, which means fair in the Farsi dialect. She was five when smallpox broke out in the region; she and my wife died just days apart. I don't know why, but I was spared...there were many days afterward, I wished I hadn't been." He looked down and was surprised to see Christine's small hand covering his dark one. Nadir looked up at her to see her eyes bright with tears.

"I'm so sorry." she said again. "I never meant to upset you."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Hush, child. It was long ago. You have caused no harm." He was quiet for a while, then said softly, "She was a sweet girl...much like you, Christine; oh, I don't mean physically, but in personality. Full of curiosity and love...delicate, but with a lot of spirit."

He smiled at the young woman. "I told you once before...never be ashamed to ask questions. _That_ still stands."

"How long have you known Erik?" The words had escaped her mouth before she even knew what she was about to say. So much she wanted to learn about her teacher and she was fairly certain _he_ would refuse to answer.

But the Persian considered it an innocent question. "Must be close to twenty years now. He was around your age when we met...possibly younger." He shook his head. "I don't really remember, but he has always been ageless in a way, Christine."

She nodded. "I know what you mean. I guess the mask has a lot to do with that. One can't judge by his face, which is usually how it's done." She went a little further. "Where did you meet?"

Still no harm in the question, but very soon she would ask something that would be Erik's preogative to answer. "Paris. He did me a great service that day."

"Oh? What did he do?"

"He saved my life."

It wasn't what she'd expected to hear. "I don't mean to pry, Nadir, but I know so little about him. Can you tell me about it? Please?"

He glanced around him at the wall that wasn't being rebuilt and decided it could wait a little longer. "I'd been in Paris for about two months when I first met him. I had a bit of money put aside, and I had always wanted to visit France. And so I did. Well, one night I attended the opera at the Garnier." At her look he explained. "The Paris Opera House...I believe it's the largest in the world."

She pursed her lips in thought. "Yes...I'm sure I read about it once. Imagine singing on that stage!"

"Yes...you would like that, I'm sure. So did Erik for that matter...but I'm getting ahead of myself." He wiped his hands on his trousers, looking at the dirt embedded under his nails. "I left the opera house one evening; there was a heavy fog that night. I lost my way, and ended up on a mostly deserted sidestreet on the opposite side of the Garnier. It was more of an alley than anything else, and unfortunately, I wasn't alone."

He grimaced, looking back through the years, and seeing himself cornered by two inhabitants of the shadowy underbelly of the Paris slums.

Christine was leaning forward, chin in hand, listening avidly. Nadir had to smile at her. Still very much a child in some ways.

"The two men who had followed me for my wallet and anything else they could remove from my keeping had me in a predicament, and I realized that I would have to fight my way out...but they had knives. I didn't." He shook his head. "Not at that time I didn't. I was wearing formal clothes and left my shiv behind in my quarters...now it goes everywhere with me." He smiled at her puzzlement. "A shiv is a knife, Christine."

"Oh. What did you do?"

"_I_ didn't do anything. _He_ came seemingly from nowhere and took care of them both before they were even aware of him. Erik had watched them following me and decided to intervene. I'm sure to this very day he wouldn't be able to say _why _he stepped in the way he did. People and Erik have never been a good mix...I'm sure you know that by now."

A picture flashed through her mind of Homer frantically clawing at his throat as he was strangled to death, and she forced the sickening image away. She well knew how her maestro would have _taken care _of the thieves.

"What was he doing there, Nadir? He told me he was left at an orphanage in St. Louis when he was an infant."

The Persian shrugged. "_That _is one of those questions I can't answer. That's for him to tell you. Suffice it to say, he was very young and very suspicious of people...they've never been kind to him. But he saved my life that night...we've been friends ever since."

"What was he like then?"

He sighed. "Much like he is now, I suppose, but there was still a fair amount of hope in his young heart to find acceptance somewhere in the world. He'd been in Paris about two years and spent most of his time at the opera house. Music always deadened the hurt and disillusionment a little at the chances of ever having a normal life. But he was still a very angry young man then, and grew into a bitter one as the years passed."

He looked at her shrewdly. "You've changed him, I think. Gentled him." He put hands on thighs and got to his feet. "And now I need to get back to work. Thank you again for the lemon drink."

She had returned home that day, wondering if she would ever have the nerve to ask her teacher questions about his past. There was so much she wanted to know, and she didn't think Erik would be all that willing to give her the answers.

And now as she listened to Mr. Reyer, the image of that afternoon with the Persian, naturally brought the other occupant of the Archer property to mind. He was arrogant, condescending and could very often become angry over what she considered to be very little; he'd frightened her on more than one occasion. He was impatient and sarcastic...causing her not just a few bouts of tears. Erik could be absolutely maddening much of the time. And that's why she refused to look too closely at why her heart ached at the thought of leaving him behind.

He had become her friend. It hadn't happened overnight...he was not an easy man to know, and she was certain that she'd only scratched the surface of his history. There was so much passion and need boiling behind those eyes...she looked into them at times, and felt that if she wasn't on guard, there was a danger of falling into them and becoming lost forever. She rarely gave the mask a second thought anymore; she had known for a long time now that it hid a countenance that was badly damaged. Her curiosity about the true nature of his face hadn't changed, but what he looked like really didn't matter anymore. The mask was his shield, and it was a part of him like the color of his hair or eyes, and she'd learned quite astutely how to garner his emotional state from other sources...she smiled; among other things, his choice of waistcoat for the day.

Anthony Reyer finished speaking, and Christine, clutching her libretto, made her way out of the theatre and to the statue of Diana the Huntress. Other members of the cast filed past her and she waved to them as they hurried off to more enjoyable pursuits. Becky and another chorus girl whose name she didn't know, drifted past her, Becky smiling archly at her. She stopped suddenly and turned back to Christine.

"Waiting for someone?" She put the tip of one manicured nail to her lip, thinking hard. "Oh, I know! You're waiting for that hideous looking patron of yours." She moved a little closer. "How desperate you must be, Christine to allow that creature anywhere near you. I'll bet _he_ doesn't mind the fact that those two bandits had such a good time with you. Uh, whatever happened to that nice looking Raoul de Chagny?"

The new chorus girl watched this exchange nervously. She wasn't comfortable with the atmosphere of spite she found herself a part of with the Drake girl. It might be wise in the future to give Becky a wide berth. She had heard the others talking about the Daae girl's kidnapping, and she had listened to the talk with wide eyed interest, but Becky was going too far.

Before Christine could react,the statue of Diana spoke in a cold and furious voice. "You are a disgrace, you foul mouthed pig! Be gone from here wench, before _you_ become the victim of a kidnapping and someone stuffs your pathetic carcass down a well!"

The two chorus girls screamed in fright, but Christine smiled to herself, knowing to whom that voice belonged. Becky stood there, staring in confusion as the angry bell-like tones issued from the mouth of the statue...trembling, she backed slowly away from it and picking up her skirts, ran off down the hall, closely followed by the new girl who was crying in fear and by now in a panic. This place _was_ haunted just as the others had told her.

Christine enjoyed the sight of Becky sprinting down the hallway, tripping over her skirts, and laughing, she turned back to the statue. "Thank you for that, _Diana_. You can come out now...they're gone."

The voice issued again from those cold, marble lips, and although she knew it was her teacher, it was still uncanny...the voice was that of a woman, and it was lilting and melodic. "You won't run away from me, will you, Christine? Even if I _am_ hideous?"

A new note had crept into _Diana's_ voice...plaintive and full of yearning, and she spoke softly to it. "Run from you? Never, Maestro. You're my dear friend. Come out now."

She glanced to the right and left of her, and jumped when a hand touched her shoulder from behind. Whirling around, she found her teacher standing there in cloak and hat, looking as austere as ever. "How _do_ you do that, Erik? I would swear you were actually _her_," and she turned and looked at Diana again.

He dropped his hand and shrugged. "I told you before, Christine. It's magic."

She pushed out her lower lip. "Fine. Don't tell me."

"Now, now. Don't be upset." he said with amusement. "Pouting doesn't become you! One hostile female at a time, if you please!" He swept a pale hand out in front of him, and she started walking as he fell in beside her. "I have someone I want you to meet."

She glanced up at him, seeing the long nose and dark mustache of his other _mask_. "May I ask who?"

He looked down at her and nodded. "Yes, you may. I want you to meet the owner of the opera house. I think it's about time that you did. You _are_ still curious, aren't you?"

She chuckled a little at that. "My _aunt _ would love to know! How exciting! He's your particular friend, isn't he, Maestro?"

He merely grunted at that. "Tell me, dear. How often does that little witch attack you? She's quite shrill."

Christine dropped her head, knowing he would have come around to this eventually. "Today was the first time in a long while, Erik. I-I pay her no mind, and you shouldn't either."

He put a hand on her arm and stopped her. "Obviously, she's seen us together before this. Care to tell me about it?"

She sighed in resignation. "Do I have any choice in the matter?"

"None."

"Very well. Becky saw you with me a few months ago...twice actually, and she was convinced that you were m-my p-patron." She cursed her fair skin once again for immediately becoming bright red. She was afraid to look at him.

There was silence for a moment, and she remained with her head down, studying her hands as if she'd never seen them before.

Erik hooked a long finger under her chin, and gently forced her head up, where her eyes reluctantly met his. "Becky Drake is completely ignorant of what a patron does, isn't she?"

His lips twitched as they normally did when something amused him. "And you're not so very far behind that kind of thinking are you, Christine?"

"Well, I'm glad that you find this so funny, because I don't!" she said, glaring at him and yanking her chin from his grasp. "I despise her!"

He released a sigh of weary impatience. "I certainly don't blame you for that! I'm not sure what potboiler novel the illustrious Becky has been reading, but an opera patron is a supporter of the arts, through money and gifts. They enjoy theatre and wish it to thrive."

He grasped her chin again, firmer this time. "Look at me."

When she did so, he lightly caressed the small cleft in her chin with his thumb, causing her to shiver. The queer light in his eyes as he regarded her was making her overly warm. "Occasionally a male patron does look for _gifts_ of another nature, but it's not an exclusive practice as that junior virago seems to think."

He dropped his hand and took her by the elbow. "Come, the owner awaits." He glanced down at her as they approached the door to the manager's office. "If the Drake girl continues to bother you...she'll have to go."

Christine said nothing, and he opened the door ushering her inside. She looked around the office expecting the owner of the opera house to come forward, but there was no one. "He's not here, Maestro. Are you sure he's expecting us?"

"I am," he said as he led her to a chair.

He stood in front of her as she sat perched on the edge of the seat, still clutching her libretto. "Christine." He cleared his throat and watched her face closely. She waited, looking at him inquiringly, and was not prepared for what he was about to say. "_I _am the owner of the St. Joseph Opera House." he said finally.

She looked blankly at him, then laughed. "Just a few minutes ago, you accused me of being gauche and ignorant...now you expect me to believe _this?"_

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Of course I expect you to believe it! Why on earth would I make it up?" he snapped in exasperation.

"I-I have no..." She stopped speaking and stood up quickly when she heard footsteps outside the door and it swung open. She was intent on getting Erik out of the office without incident; she was beginning to think he'd become delusional. Owner, indeed!

Mr. Sorelli walked in and lifted his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the young woman in his office. "Miss Daae. May I help you?"

Christine walked over to Erik and grabbed his arm. "I'm s-sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Sorelli. We're just leaving," and she started pulling him toward the door.

Samuel watched in confusion as his unresisting boss was practically dragged to the door by Christine. "Uh, of course. But if you have a moment, Erik. I have the bill of lading for that shipment just in from New York. Care to look at it before you leave? It'll only take a minute of your time." He glanced quickly at Christine. "If you don't mind."

Her mouth had dropped open in a round _O_ of surprise, as she glanced from her teacher to Mr. Sorelli and back again; to Erik, she looked absolutely adorable. "It's true then? You really _are_ the owner?" she whispered.

He nodded. "I'll look at the receipt later, Samuel. But if I may...I would like to speak with Christine...in private." He stared at him intently, and Samuel got the message loud and clear.

"Of course, Boss. Take all the time you need." He hurriedly glanced at Christine before he left. She was regarding Erik steadily, but there was no sign of fright or hesitation on her part.

She heard the door closing quietly as Mr. Sorelli left the office, but she never looked away from her teacher. "Forgive me for not believing you, but it just seemed so far-fetched to me. You've never let on in any way that _you_ owned this place." Then with horror, she realized something.

"I didn't get these roles on my own merit, did I? You can hire or fire anyone you wish. I'm..."

He over-rode her. "Stop. Right. There." He grabbed a chair from against the wall, putting it beside hers and sat down. "You have the talent, my dear girl. Trust me on this. Never, ever think otherwise." He looked at her sternly. "All of St. Joseph and the reviews from the Gazette, and even St. Louis, wouldn't lie...if you won't believe me, believe _them."_

She smoothed her green dress absently, still stunned at his revelation. _And another layer peeled away. _"Why have you not spoken of it before this? And why do you hide your ownership from everyone?"

He growled a laugh. "You ask _me_ that? That harridan in the chorus is only _one_ who considers me hideous. I assure you she would not be alone if Erik were to show his face to everyone; they would be convinced that a monster rules the opera house. And that, my dear, is bad for business."

She heard the bitterness and anger in his voice, and hesitantly put her hand over his. "No, you are _not_ a monster, so stop that right now," nearly repeating his words to her from just a few minutes ago.

He raised his eyes to hers and said with cold amusement. "So speaks the young lady who knows me _so_ well."

"All right then," she said softly, "tell me so I _can_ know you better, Maestro."

He nodded his head slightly and stood up. "I had every intention of telling you today. That's why I asked you here."

He paced around the small room, one hand kneading the tight muscles in his neck. "I won this establishment in a poker game from the inestimable Mr. Leroy Tuttle. I had a full house...he didn't." He turned and faced her, hand still massaging the tense muscles there. "It was very slowly going belly up. Tuttle had no wish to manage it, and his debts were going unpaid. I truly believe, Christine, that he tried to destroy his own building for the insurance money, but something went wrong and it was merely gutted, instead of the total loss he expected."

"But...a man died, Erik. How could he justify that in any way?"

"Because, my young innocent ...people will do anything for money." He stopped, looking pensively at the wall. "Well, almost anything..."

He sat down beside her again. "I was tired of drifting from town to town looking for faces on wanted posters. The daroga was as well. I did the actual tracking and," he coughed, "uh, termination, and he delivered them to the authorities and collected our bounty. We decided that once we were done with the trail, we'd make money selling the stories to the newspapers. With the opera house, I could spend more of my time surrounded by music, but little did I know that St. Joseph was so interested in the exploits of the Phantom, and it kept me writing even after I was ready to stop. I admit I was surprised at how well the serial was received." He glanced at her, his mouth thin and unsmiling, but with a glint of humor in his eyes. "You'd be surprised, Christine at how voraciously some of these women read Phantom Trails! And they always require more."

She had to smile when she caught that twinkle in his eyes for she knew what caused it. "All right! Guilty as charged and you very well know it! _You_ live in St. Joe a few more years and you'll understand better why we looked forward to every chapter!"

"Ah...but I don't need a serial in a newspaper. I have you." he said gently.

She dropped her eyes and studied her hands again. He tilted his head at her and watched as the frown appeared on her face. "What's wrong?"

She sighed, feeling despondent all of a sudden. "You've forgotten, Erik. Two months from now I'll be leaving for St. Louis."

He was silent for a moment. "I haven't forgotten." he said grimly. "You'll be leaving soon after the last performance, no?"

She nodded, still keeping her eyes on her lap. "Aunt Edna expects it of me, Erik! And...and I need to get away from here for a while. See other places...other people. Make new friends."

"You won't forget the old ones, will you?" He raised a hand when she started to protest. "I think I understand you, Christine. I wasn't always this jaded. The world seems wonderful until one gets out into it and gets a closer look."

He stood up and held his hand out to her. She glanced up at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. "I thought you were going to tell me all about yourself. I've heard very little."

She put her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet. "Another time perhaps. It's a long torturous story and should only be taken in small doses." He walked with her to the door and opened it. "Besides...maybe your curiosity for more will keep you coming back to your Erik."

"I'll always come back." she whispered.

"That's good to know. May I accompany you home today?"

Christine never hesitated. "I would love it!" Gossipers be damned!

"Instead of a lesson this evening, I wish to take you somewhere."

"Will I need to get permission from my aunt?" she said intrigued.

"No. Not necessary, but dress warmly."

She stopped him beside the door that led into the alley. "Who will replace me after I'm gone?" Unbidden, the image of Becky Drake popped into her head.

He cringed at her words, seeing the bleakness of his life when she was gone. "I haven't given it much thought, to tell the truth, but Samuel wants Julia Bardot. He thinks with a little work, she can be as good as you." He snorted at that. "Not very likely, I'm sure."

"Well," she said lightly, feeling relieved that Becky's name hadn't been mentioned, "it's your opera house, Mr. Archer. You won't be taking on another student, will you?" she said with a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

He frowned at the use of that name, but said just as quietly. "I wasn't planning on it. The last one was more than enough for me."

They left the opera house unaware that someone had been listening avidly to their conversation. Sully Larson, one of the scene shifters at the opera house, opened the door of the supply room wider, and stepped into the corridor cautiously. He turned back to the room and motioned with one hand to the woman he'd just been fondling. "Coast is clear, Sugar. Come on out." He gestured to the empty hallway. "See? There's no one here just like I said."

Becky walked out of the small room, straightening her dress, and looked toward the door Daae and the tall man had just gone through.

"That's because you didn't hear them with your head stuck where it was."

"Well, come on. We can continue where we left off. I want you to meet a very good friend of mine. You can even touch him...he won't mind." he whispered. "After all, I just took care of you. Turn around's fair play."

Sully made to put his arm around her, and she pulled away impatiently. "Not now." she snapped. She was ecstatic at what she'd just learned and needed time to process it.

_Mr. Archer._

The man lived in a monstrosity of a house and owned St. Joe's only theatre. The recluse that no one had ever seen, and Christine had him in her pocket. But if she had _her_ way, it wouldn't be for much longer.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Christine clutched her shawl around her shoulders against the chill as her teacher led her through the cellar once again. She had met him near the wide wooden doors outside the house, and followed him now as he led her in the opposite direction from their first trip to visit Lucifer. He stopped in front of another stout wooden door reinforced with iron bands.

She giggled, a sound which was always pleasing to his ear. "What do you have in there, Erik? A torture chamber?"

"Ahh...step inside and you shall see." He opened the door with a flourish and she walked into a dream. She was aware of a low steady humming and searched for the source. The room blazed with light...candles were everywhere, artfully arranged around a room filled to bursting with sheets of music. A backless divan sat against one wall, draped with a large paisley throw and colorful pillows. Beside it was a small table holding a tray with a tea service and a plate of small cakes. But the piece de resistance in the room was the magnificent organ she had first seen nearly a year ago being carted to Archer House on the day of the big storm.

She went up to the beautiful instrument and ran a hand along its rich oak surface, admiring the three manuals and the many stops. She turned to her teacher who was watching her with interest. "I remember the day it was delivered...it's fantastic! Will you play it for me?"

"Of course. That's why I brought you here. It's a Cavaille-Coll, made in France...a symphonic organ that produces sounds similar to other instruments...it's practically an orchestra all by itself." he said with obvious pride.

He led her over to the divan and poured her a cup of tea. "Make yourself comfortable and I shall play for you." He walked over and leaning down, he fiddled with something next to the organ, and immediately Christine, still searching the room for the source of the low humming, looked at him curiously.

"What's that noise?"

He pulled out some of the stops and turned to her, his yellow eyes glowing in the candle light. "That, dear girl, is the electrical motor I built to operate the wind turbines...they produce the air needed to make the music. I have every intention of converting the opera house and this one over to electricity in the not too distant future." She took a sip of her tea as Erik warmed to his subject.

"The principal behind the electric motor, Christine, is simple really. It's the conversion of electrical energy into mechanical energy by electromagnetic means. A free hanging wire is dipped into a small pool of mercury on which a permanent magnet is placed. When a current is passed through the wire, the wire rotates around the magnet and the current gives rise to a close circular magnetic field around the...around the...

"What?" he snapped in irritation as she made a sour face at him.

"Erik? _Play_ it for me?" she asked him sweetly.

He stared hard at her for a moment, then turning on his heel, he strode to the organ, swept his coattails out of the way and sat down. He glared at her one last time and Christine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, and looked back at him innocently.

"Bach," he announced through gritted teeth.

The richness of Toccata & Fugue leapt out at her, nearly making her grab her ears, as the majesty of the instrument rolled out in swells of sound. Her teacher played the grand organ effortlessly, his feet gliding smoothly along the pedal board and his nimble fingers leaping non-stop from manual to manual, once again proving to her how vast was his talent.

Her tea forgotten, she sat watching and listening, as his magician's fingers worked their magic on her soul. Chills raced up and down her spine, while evening deepened and her maestro filled the air around them with the timeless music of the masters.


	16. Chapter 16

"I'll get it Mama!" Meg shouted, as she ran down the stairs and to the front door. She'd seen Raoul approaching the house from the hallway window upstairs. She had known he would be coming over; today was Christine's birthday, and he had promised to visit with her for a while. He would be leaving for college in the morning, taking the train to St. Louis, and Christine would be leaving herself by the end of the week. Meg wished with all of her heart, that she was going also...it would be deadly dull at home without them around. Without Raoul.

Her mother came down the hallway from the kitchen, shaking a wooden spoon covered in chocolate icing at her. "Meg!" she growled at her daughter. "How many times have I told you, child? Quietly...the missus is upstairs lying down, so you best be a lot quieter before she decides to get up... and if she does, I intend to take it out on you!" and with that, she stomped back to the kitchen.

Meg rolled her eyes. Honestly...she'd been walking on eggshells all morning! How much quieter was she required to be? She opened the door to find Raoul removing his hat, and smoothing his wayward hair in place; it had a tendency to curl on him, which Meg loved to see. She longed to reach her hand out and run her fingers through its springy softness.

"Hello, Raoul. Won't you come in?" She ushered him into the parlor, taking his hat from him. "Have a seat. Christine will be down in a few minutes." She glanced at the bouquet of fragrant white tuberoses and lilac autumn crocuses in his hand. "They're very pretty and they smell wonderful." She hid a smile from him, knowing they came from his mother's garden, for Mrs. de Chagny prided herself on her green thumb.

Raoul pulled a tuberose carefully from the bouquet and handed it to her. "This one is for you, Meg." he said in a husky voice. He always brought flowers for Christine while the younger girl looked on, and it made him slightly uncomfortable the way she looked at him _and _the flowers.

She was touched by his gesture, and taking the sweet smelling tuberose, she thanked him and sat down as well. "How exciting to be going away to college! And to be in St. Louis too. At least you and Christine will have each other in a new place."

"Well, I don't know how often we'll be able to get together, Meg. We'll both be busy with school and such." But he smiled. "You know...I can't recall anyone telling me _your_ birthday."

She put the flower to her nose again. Before it wilted, she would press it between the pages of a book, and keep it forever. "My birthday is in September, Raoul...September 5th. Next one, _I'll _be seventeen." she said proudly.

He looked at her shining brown hair pulled up in two gleaming wings and secured in a chignon, his gaze continuing to travel down the thin column of her neck, and coming to a halt at her...breasts. He would swear they hadn't been there before. _When had she got those?_ He tore his gaze away and swallowed hard, embarrassed at the distinct tightening of his trousers...he yanked the bouquet of flowers into his lap to hide the ghastly tent which had just grown there. _Get down, you damned traitor! _he said viciously to that part of him which had been so difficult to control lately. _It's the wrong girl, you idiot!_ His face was brick red, and sweat had started to bead along his hairline. Meg was watching him now, concern in her big brown eyes.

"Are you all right? It _is_ warm in here, isn't it? Christine's aunt has a head cold and gets chilled easily, so all the windows are shut tight." She laughed a little. "Whatever you do, Raoul...if she comes in here, don't upset her. She's been very cross with everyone today."

Her words cut through his misery, and sweet blessed relief! The damned thing deflated quicker than a pin stuck in a child's balloon at the mere mention of Christine's Valkyrie of an aunt. Might as well have dumped ice-water on it. _Phew_! And he tugged the collar of his shirt away from his neck.

"A little warm, yes." _That_ would be a gross understatement!

He heard light footsteps approaching the parlor, and Christine walked in smiling a welcome. "Hello, stranger! I haven't seen you in a week or better! All packed now?"

Raoul stood and handed the bouquet to her, admiring how fresh and pretty she looked in her pink and white flowered dress. "Happy Birthday, Christine! And many more!"

She thanked him and sat down on the settee. Meg stood up. "I'll leave you two alone now." She glanced at de Chagny one last time. "Goodbye, Raoul. Have a safe journey." She willed her eyes not to tear up...at least, not until later.

Raoul cleared his throat and said gruffly, "Ah, you too, Meg...I mean...um...goodbye." He watched her walk out of the room, then resumed his seat.

"Yes, I'm packed. My mother had me visiting my aunt and uncle for a few days. They live outside Wathena on a farm." He sat back in the chair. "I'm all ready to go now, but Mother wants me to spend the day at home with the family." He made a face. "At least we can make plans once you get to St. Louie. Right, Christine? We can do lots of things; I can rent us a buggy and we can take drives and go on a picnic or two."

She agreed with him and they sat there chatting about life in the big city and drinking the tea which Hannah had brought them. They talked until Raoul fished his watch out and checked the time. He sighed and reluctantly stood up. "I wish I could stay longer, but I told my father I'd be no longer than an hour. He's going to give me my do's and don't's." He grinned his lopsided smile. "_You_ know...the going away from home don't forget how you were raised...lecture."

She giggled. "Yes, I've gotten a few of those myself already. From Aunt Edna _and_ Hannah."

She went and fetched his hat for him, and they stood for a moment at the front door.

"Hurry and get there, all right? I'll be waiting." he whispered. She nodded slowly as he leaned closer and softly pressed his lips to hers. He pulled back and smiled one last time.

She watched him walk out to his horse tied at the post near the carriage block, and after he'd mounted, she waved to him and closed the door.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She pushed the basket along the rows of tomato plants collecting the last of the bright red fruit before first frost. These would be used in Hannah's chutney, and she would can most of it and store it on the shelf in the fruit cellar for the winter months. The air had grown chilly once again, and there was a definite nip in the air...she was glad for the old barn coat she had on. She worked in the dying sunlight of that November afternoon, always content to have her fingers in the dirt, loving the pungent smell of the tomato vines, which were now turning brown. Wherever she lived someday, she would have a neat, tidy garden of her own and grow vegetables the same as Hannah. And flowers...every color under the sun!

The housekeeper was fixing Christine's favorite meal of fried chicken and chocolate layer cake to celebrate her birthday. They had already given her her gifts...things she could use at the conservatory, and Meg had presented her with a bottle of rosewater. Even Nadir had remembered her seventeenth birthday with a box of stationary and cream colored envelopes for all the letters home she would be writing.

She reached the end of the last row, and spying something red at the bottom of the large plant, she reached for it thinking it a tomato, when she caught the sweet scent of the rosebud before she even put her fingers around it. It was long stemmed and the darkest of reds, with a thin black ribbon tied round it. A shadow fell over her and she found herself looking at a pair of shiny black shoes...she would know those big feet anywhere. Her gaze reached up past long thin legs clad in black trousers, and she craned her head way back until she felt a crick in her neck, finally meeting the flash of amber from his eyes.

"Erik! What are you doing here?" she said stupidly.

"Come to watch you cavorting in the tomato patch, dear. Most unkind of Madame Jules to have you in the dirt on your birthday." He reached a hand down to her and pulled her to her feet, where she stood beside him, her dirty hand still cradled self-consciously in his. When she moved to take it back, he gripped it tighter.

"Happy Birthday, Christine." he said softly, and raised her smudged knuckles to his mouth and kissed them.

She was immediately suffused with heat as his cool lips touched her skin and lingered there. She pulled at her hand again, feeling a tremor; she wasn't sure whether it was from her or Erik, but he released her hand and stepped lightly away from her.

"I would like to sit down with you for a few moments if I may?"

She ducked her head, confused all of a sudden at the odd sensations she was experiencing, but she nodded and pointed to the grape arbor. "The bench, or if you'd like, we can go in the parlor."

"The bench is fine. Shall I pick up your tomatoes? I'll put them near the kitchen door."

"No, they're all right. Come and have a seat, Maestro. Can I get you some tea, or...or coffee?"

"Thank you, but no. I require only your time."

She sat down at the far end of the iron bench, and slid across the seat from one side to the other and back again, while her teacher watched her antics with amusement. "Feel better, dear?" he said gently.

She stopped immediately and looked up at him shamefaced. "The bench was dirty, and your clothes are always so immaculate. I was simply cleaning it off..." her words trailed off into a whisper as she became self-conscious and tongue-tied all of a sudden. _Why did she act so foolish around him? It was only her teacher._ So she folded her hands in her lap and waited quietly for him to speak.

"You must feel at odds now with the production finished and no longer taking up your days and nights." he said as he sat down beside her.

He leaned back and glanced at her, black mask secured to his face, keeping the world at a distance. A world minus one. _She _had come to know him better than she would ever have thought possible with someone like her teacher. But she didn't tease herself into thinking she knew every facet of his personality...she didn't think such a person existed.

"I'm sad that it's over. It _was_ a good run, wasn't it? I'm going to miss everyone so much!"

"Even me?" Erik asked her softly.

She dropped her eyes to her lap and nodded, inspecting her dirty nails carefully, not wanting to look at him. "Of course I'm going to miss you." she mumbled, rubbing her hands together then wiping them on her duster.

"Happy Birthday, Christine," and he handed her a small black box.

She looked blankly at him for a second, then slowly reached for it, their fingers brushing. She glanced at him again in surprise, then opened it...to reveal a gold locket on a delicate chain. Her mouth dropped open in shock, as it habitually did when she was overwhelmed. She glanced back up at her teacher.

"Oh, it's beautiful. Truly beautiful." The locket had a dainty filigree pattern and she could just make out tiny hinges on one side.

"Open it." he urged her impatiently.

She did as he asked, and once again she was surprised. Tears gathered in her eyes at the thought of all the minute and painstaking labor he had done to create the artwork inside the locket. "Erik...how...?"

"Do you like it, dear?" his voice catching a little.

She gazed at the exquisite depiction of the St. Joseph Opera House on one side of the locket, and opposite that was herself in the peasant costume of Barbarina, but it was _her _waist length honey-gold hair carefully rendered instead of the black wig. She looked at her tiny portrait and back at the man who'd so lovingly painted it. She realized instantly, that she couldn't show this to anyone except Meg. Both of the older women would be shocked at Erik's behavior; an unmarried man was not supposed to make gifts of jewelry to a single young lady unless they were engaged to be married. It just wasn't done. But she would never tell him so. And she would cherish his gift forever, as he was treasuring hers to him...he wore his cravat pin every day that she'd seen him during their lessons...he was wearing it now. Of course her aunt must never see the locket. But no matter...she would wear it in St. Louis always.

"I adore it, Maestro. Thank you!" and before she could tell herself it was a bad idea, she put a hand to his neck, and pulled his head down, kissing the cheek of his mask. His surprise at the gesture caused him to flinch, and she scooted back hastily, ashamed of her hoydenish behavior, apologizing profusely.

Erik, angered at his own foolish reaction, grasped her hand instantly. "You have _nothing_ to apologize for, Christine! You startled me a bit, that's all. I'm not used to anyone leaning toward me...they're usually backing away. Believe me, it was most welcome!" He cursed himself for babbling like a schoolboy, but he'd been caught unawares by the young woman. She had kissed him! Erik!

She instantly felt bad. He was flustered, which was a state she rarely saw him in...and it was her fault, so she tried to make amends...by wearing his gift.

She held the locket out to him. "Will you fasten it for me, Maestro?"

He looked at the locket she was holding and swallowed hard. "My pleasure." he said hoarsely, and reached for the necklace.

She turned and presented her slender neck to him, and his traitorous hands started to tremble. He slid the delicate chain around her neck, and hissed softly at the feel of her tender flesh under his sensitive fingertips. He worked to attach the clasp, all the while letting his hands linger on her warm skin. When they had done so, his fingers ghosted one last time across her neck, and he inhaled her sweetness through his non-existent nose. He stared mesmerized at her nape and the soft, baby fine hair that was curled so deliciously there. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and placed the tiniest of kisses, so light and delicate it was barely felt by her, but for Erik it was momentous; it was the first he'd ever given a woman, no matter that the woman in question never realized she'd just received it. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, his heart thumping so loud in his chest, he was certain she would hear it, then dropped his hands to his lap and took a breath that he so desperately needed.

She'd felt his chilled fingers fumbling with the clasp; fingers that she'd always known to be graceful and full of dexterity, that were now gliding across her neck and raising goosebumps where they touched. Her eyes had slid shut as he fixed the clasp and she nearly moaned in delight at the feel of his calloused fingertips against her sensitive nape, but she quickly stopped the sound before it left her lips. She felt a small tickle on her neck...the barest of touches, then it was gone.

She searched for her voice and found it, although she felt breathless, as if she'd been running hard. "Th-Thank you. I..."

"Christine!"

"It's Hannah!" she whispered frantically to him, convinced she'd been bad.

"So it is." Erik said calmly, but when she turned around and glanced up at his eyes, she was startled. They held the gleam of anger in them. "That woman's timing is a damned nuisance." he muttered.

"Quickly, Maestro. Get up!" she said in a panic, grabbing for his hands.

I'm already up, dear girl, he thought in pained resignation, relieved to be wearing his cloak, and slowly climbed to his feet. They could just barely make out Hannah through the vines, walking toward them. Erik moved out from the arbor and watched the housekeeper's approach.

Hannah was caught unawares at the presence of their next door neighbor. "Why, Erik! I had no idea you were out here." She glanced at the full basket on the ground. "I see that Christine collected the tomatoes. Have you seen her by any chance?" she said, her eyes never leaving his.

He gently pulled the young woman forward, and Hannah was surprised at how the man towered over the girl; she didn't quite reach his shoulder. They made a strange looking couple...Christine so young and fair, while Erik's appearance was dark and ominous. She was clutching a long stemmed rose in one grubby hand. "We've been sitting here having a nice chat, haven't we, dear?" and he looked encouragingly at her.

"Yes. Yes we have. E-Erik came over to wish me a happy birthday, Hannah."

She watched the young woman carefully. She was acting just like she always did when she was embroiled in some kind of mischievous activity. Guilty as sin, but trying to pass it off as normal behavior. Like the time she'd caught her and Meg in the middle of a raucous pillow fight with goose feathers drifting down white as snow covering just about everything in the bedroom, including the two girls. She had heard their high pitched laughter and excited squeals before she'd even reached Christine's bedroom door. Ten year old Meg had started to cry, caught red-handed, but Christine had simply looked at her, seeming more like a blonde haired angel in her long white nightdress than a mischief making imp. She'd pointed innocently at the pillow in her hand still leaking feathers. "It broke open, Hannah," she had said in her soft voice, plucking a feather off the tip of her nose, not even taking into consideration that the housekeeper had just walked in on them whacking each other over the head.

But this was different. The masked man gazed back at her guardedly, but Christine had the look of someone just waking from a dream. Her eyes were soft and tender; if she didn't know better, she would take that expression at face value, and call it the look of a woman in love. Impossible, she thought. A young girl like Christine, in love with a man at least twice her age, with a facial deformity so bad, he didn't dare show his face? She had known for a long time that Erik was fond of his student, and most probably in love with her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that possibility.

"That was real nice of him, child, but I'll be putting dinner on the table soon. Best go wash that dirt off now."

Christine nodded, then turned to her teacher. "I'll be over at seven, Maestro."

He bowed slightly to both ladies and with a shrewd look at Hannah, he melted into the darkness of early evening.

Hannah took the girl's hand. "That must have been an interesting chat you two were having. You're shaking."

Christine laughed breathlessly. "It's getting chillier out here, that's all. Well...I better go wash," and with one more quick glance at the older woman, she picked up the basket of tomatoes and went inside.

She stood there in the dim light and watched the young woman's retreating back. Edna had talked with Christine a good while ago about the dangers of letting men become too familiar with their attentions, and she was sure Edna was concerned with the amount of time Christine spent with Erik. The young woman had listened and acknowledged that she understood, but now Hannah wasn't so sure. "I think it's a darn good thing you're leaving here at the end of the week." she said to the empty air. She looked into the darkness where Erik had disappeared. "A darn good thing," and Hannah followed her inside, remembering the long stemmed rose Christine had been holding. "No one ever gave _me_ roses." she mumbled.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Nadir hung the last oiled bridle on the nail. From the carriage house he heard Erik's mare whinny a strident greeting, and trot over to the corner of the paddock. _Ah, the master returns._

He stepped outside into the crisp air of early evening and rummaged in his pockets for a cheroot and matches. He saw his friend at the paddock fence, one leg hitched up and foot balanced on the bottom rail, talking softly to the mare. Nadir ambled over, and stopping beside him, lit his cigar. Puffing it into life, he sent a stream of aromatic smoke into the air. It was a clear evening sky with a vast carpet of glittering stars spread across the heavens. A night for lovers, he thought as he regarded the waxing moon, but instead of a courting couple revealed by the moonlight, its dim glow shone on a couple of chewed-up bachelors.

He mimicked his friend, and put one foot up on the bottom rail. His gelding was ambling slowly toward him, and he reached out and put his hand on the velvety nose. "Ah...Barin. Always looking for a treat, aren't you? But only Christine brings you apples, my friend, and she's not here at the moment."

He looked at the masked man. "Enjoy your walk, Erik?" he said lightly.

He turned his head as if noticing the Persian for the first time. "Ah...daroga! Lovely evening, no? Yes! Yes! A very nice stroll through a tomato patch!"

"I saw Christine out there earlier. She enjoys gardening, that one does. She told me once she would love to have a room filled with all types of plants and many windows to let in the sun." He chuckled and glanced sideways at his friend. "You weren't trying to filch some of her tomatoes were you?"

Erik gently pushed the black mare away, then looked at the Persian. "I wasn't the least bit interested in her _tomatoes_ and you well know it." He looked casually at his friend of many years. "So Christine would like a room filled with plants? I never realized she had such an interest in growing things. I find that curious, don't you?"

"Curious how? That a young woman should have other interests, besides music? You, my friend, need to realize that as lovely as it no doubt is, there's much more to that young lady than just her voice."

Erik became impatient at that. "No...not that she has other interests, you great booby! My Christine has many pursuits...she's a smart girl, and I'm well aware of her other attributes. Very much so." he said, with a thread of longing in his beautiful voice. "I _meant_, I didn't realize she liked to grow _things._ But she needs her own place for that, does she not?"

Nadir didn't like the speculative gleam in his friend's eyes. "What _are_ you thinking, Erik? I've seen that look before; most recently on your last project. The organ is finished, so what new endeavor are you planning now? Doesn't the opera keep you busy enough?"

"Mm. You're quite paranoid, you know."

Nadir chuckled again. "Probably. I've been around _you_ too long." He puffed on his cigar, the tip glowing bright red in the darkness. He regarded his friend. "You'll have more time on your hands with no one to teach, but then you still have the opera house and its demands, what with the new production and Christine's replacement. Any ideas?"

"No."

The Persian ignored Erik's suddenly flat tone, knowing that the young woman's departure in a few days was the cause. He hoped his friend could face the reality of what _might_ happen once she got a taste of life a little more interesting than St. Joseph. So with some apprehension, for with Erik one never knew his current mood until it was too late, the Persian decided to test the waters.

"Christine only has a few more days and then she'll be leaving. It will be a big change for her after this small town, but she'll be quite popular at the conservatory, I think. Popular with the young men as well, and need I mention de Chagny? He'll be there also."

The masked man regarded the Persian with narrowed eyes. "Do you have a _point_ in all of this? Get to it, if you do. The boy was over there today and stayed only a little while. He _plays_ at love, daroga." he sneered. "I, on the other hand am deadly serious about what I want."

He clamped the cigar between his teeth. "Erik," he began quietly, searching for the right words, "have you even considered what you will do if she decides _not _to come back to St. Joseph? You have taken her imminent departure very well so far. But what if she chooses to leave you in her past?"

His friend didn't even blink at that, but turned and gazed at the Stone house, Christine's bedroom window in particular, where warm lamp light shone. "That's simply not possible, my friend." He said it very gently, as if he were explaining the facts to someone slow-witted and dull. His long fingers had curled around the top rail and glowed white as bone.

He turned back to Nadir, and the Persian saw the warning look from those yellow eyes. "You see..._I_ am Christine's present...also her future, and I will take exception to _anyone_ who thinks otherwise." It was said calmly...quietly, but the Persian knew the man beside him...and never doubted his meaning for one second. It was the way Erik would go about it that worried Nadir. But he needed to make his friend understand something that was perfectly clear to _him._

"And what if Christine has other plans? Plans that don't include you? What then?"

Erik took his foot off the rail, and turning around, leaned his back against it, arms folded across his chest. "My plans and hers have been the same since that first night she walked into the tower room. Nothing has changed. She's mine, daroga. She'll have her little adventure, grow tired of it, and come home to _me_."

"What of Edna Stone? According to Hannah, she's uneasy about your continuing relationship with her niece. If you go against her wishes, you may end up alienating Christine."

His friend said nothing, and the Persian feared what Erik might do to ensure keeping the girl close to him, but then he spoke, and Nadir realized how deeply in love his friend of many years had fallen.

"I would do _nothing_ to harm her." He regarded the Persian with a mixture of hope and trepidation. "That includes going against her aunt's wishes. Well...at least for now that is, but I will not stand by and let another have her. I will not."

Nadir sighed, fearing heartbreak for his friend in the coming months, but he was worried for Christine as well. He was very fond of the girl, and he would hate to have her hurt in any way. Erik could be a very frightening individual, for he had witnessed him go after criminals with dogged determination, and once he'd tracked them to wherever they were holed up, he'd killed them systematically without any negotiation. No mercy, no feelings, no fuss. Christine was a first for the masked man though...he loved her dearly, and he would fight to keep her. The Persian was fairly certain, that if it came to violence and killing, it wouldn't even slow his friend down. Erik's devotion to the young woman was everlasting. And his next words confirmed that.

"She's the only woman to ever look at me as just a man. You have no idea how delightful that can be for someone such as myself." He looked at her bedroom window again. "Even when I'm causing her distress and making her life miserable, she is still kind. She is a rarity for Erik...and he loves her so."

"What if she doesn't love you?" Nadir said gently.

"I have enough love for the both of us, but she will love me in time. She will. I know she will." he whispered.

He turned back to the Persian. "For the first time I have happiness in my grasp, daroga, and I will do whatever I must to keep it...to keep _her_."

He pushed away from the fence and left a solemn Nadir alone with his thoughts.


	17. Chapter 17

She closed and latched her portmanteau. That was the last of the packing; her trunk was already in the downstairs hallway, awaiting the trip to the train station in the morning. She walked over to the window and looked out at the gray November afternoon; it had rained lightly that morning and it was still overcast, but a weak sun was trying to break through the clouds.

She at last turned from the window and left her room. Her aunt wished to see her once her preparations for tomorrow's departure were finished; Edna was at last feeling better, but had a lingering cough and remained in her room. Christine tapped lightly on the door and walked in. Her aunt was sitting in a tapestry slipper chair next to the fireplace, wrapped in a fluffy white shawl.

She went over to her, and leaning down, kissed one wrinkled cheek. "You look much better, Auntie." she said smiling, and sat down on the ottoman nearby.

Edna put down the sewing she'd been working on. "Compared to what, child?" she said, her tone querulous from the enforced stay in her room. "I still feel like something the cat dragged in, but I _do_ feel stronger than I did two days ago. Are you all packed and ready to go?"

"Yes I am. I'm free to do whatever you wish now. I can have my dinner with you, if you'd like."

Edna nodded. "Yes, that would be nice," and she sighed. "You're going to be missed around here." She regarded her niece thoughtfully. "But we've known this day was coming, and you were always so excited about going to the conservatory." She shook her head. "Lately...you've seemed distracted and not as enthusiastic as you've been in the past. Don't you want to go now, child?"

Her aunt's words took her by surprise. "Why, of course I do." she said weakly, not at all sure if that was true any longer.

"You'll have your studies and recitals to work on, and Raoul will be there as well. He's a fine young man, Christine, and he'll make you an excellent husband."

"Whoa, just a minute!" she said laughing. "Raoul and I have every intention of enjoying each other's company in St. Louis, but no one has said a word about marriage!"

Her aunt appeared somewhat sheepish, which pleased Christine quite a bit. "Yes, well...maybe I'm getting slightly ahead of myself then. But at least your association with our neighbor will be over. He did a wonderful job bringing your voice so far along, and getting you onstage at the opera house, but it's more than time for you to end your relationship with him."

She was having a difficult time digesting what her aunt had just said, and could feel the stirrings of resentment beginning. "With all due respect, Aunt, my _relationship_ with Erik will hopefully never be over. We're friends, I think. Why don't you like him?" Something suddenly occurred to her. _Careful_,_ Christine._ _Don't upset her. _"Was someone spreading gossip again...someone named Drake by any chance?"

Edna chose that moment to have a coughing spell, and Christine dutifully got up and poured her a glass of water. After a few sips, she was able to answer her. "No one has said a word, young lady, but you've spent an inordinate amount of time in that house. First your lessons, and then he talked you into doing that copy work for him." She started to cough again, and gestured to the bottle of elixir on her nightstand.

Christine handed it to her aunt and sat down again. "He didn't _talk_ me into anything." she said calmly. "I volunteered to help him. It was the least I could do after all the help he's given me!"

Edna knew that she had come home in the buggy last week with Erik; she had seen them together from her bedroom window, and it had been on the tip of her tongue to say something to Christine, but wisely she had refrained from doing so. She had no wish to alienate the girl before she left for school, and hopefully her leaving here would put an end to this unhealthy obsession the man had for the young woman. Edna would never condone Erik's courting her niece. She would be forever grateful for his instruction of Christine and his help at the opera house; more importantly, for his rescue of her during that horrible business last summer. She had known it was Erik who brought her home that night, but it didn't change the fact that he wasn't fit in her eyes as a husband for her niece. She considered him dangerous and strange...always hiding behind a mask. He was simply too much of an unknown quantity to be taken seriously. She regarded the girl, choosing her words carefully.

"Be that as it may, Christine, you've spent a lot of time in his company. Has he tried to talk you out of going to St. Louis, by any chance?"

"Well of course not! In fact, he actually told me it was for the best, the night he..." She stopped speaking and glanced quickly at her aunt, who was watching her niece closely. She had been about to say, the night he brought her home after her kidnapping.

"The night he what?" she said softly.

"T-The night he...he was in the carriage house to unhitch Figaro for me." she finished lamely.

Her aunt said nothing for the moment. "Christine. Has he ever become overly friendly with you during your lessons? Truthfully now."

"No never. He's always been focused on them. Besides...Mr. Khan was there and so was Mrs. Cole." It wasn't _exactly_ the truth; it had usually been just the two of them in the tower room, but Erik _was_ a dedicated teacher, and for the most part kept strictly to the business at hand. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but she needed to say it anyway. "If you considered him less than a gentleman, why did you give your consent to the lessons in the first place?"

Edna's stare was hard as she looked at the girl, then it softened, as she recalled that beautiful voice of his. "I think your teacher had a wonderful grasp of an old woman's expectations, to tell the truth." She put her lace hankie up to her lips and coughed into it. "He played rather well on my wish for you to someday sing onstage. He was very persuasive."

Christine suddenly recalled almost the same words from Erik that night on the road in front of the house. She pushed the thought away, and smiled at her aunt instead. "Which is _exactly_ what happened, thanks to him. He did everything he said he would do, didn't he?" _And then some, _remembering his hard ride to find her, and the way he'd taken her back from the two bank robbers.

Edna admitted defeat, realizing that her niece would not budge from her defense of the masked man. In a way, it was a relief to know that she had possibly over-reacted to Erik's relationship with Christine. Maybe from now on, listening to gossip from the Drake house would be avoided at all costs. That woman was poison.

She smiled briefly at the girl. "Very well. We'll discuss this no more. Run along now, and see if you can get one of those buttermilk biscuits off of Hannah and a cup of tea to go with it. I feel a little peckish."

She went out the door and down the backstairs into the kitchen, where Hannah was seated at the wooden table polishing the good silver; Christine got her aunt's tea ready, putting a generous dollop of honey on the biscuit and loading everything on a tray. Once she'd delivered it to her, she felt oddly restless, and decided a walk would do her good; the day was still cloudy and cool, but regardless of the weather, she grabbed her red-hooded cape from the peg behind the kitchen door.

"I'm going for a walk, Hannah." she said to the housekeeper and stepped outside.

Christine walked to the back edge of their property and stepped to the right into the woods behind the house. She started to walk aimlessly, listening to the crunch of the leaves under her shoes...the trees were mostly bare now. She _was_ excited about her trip tomorrow and beginning her studies at the conservatory...she'd made the journey from Kansas City years ago with her aunt when her father had died, but she had been grief stricken and frightened of her future...leery of her no nonsense aunt, and could barely remember the details from that time. This would be her first major trip since then, and although she was looking forward to it, she was also dreading it.

She had been staring at the ground as she walked, and with a start, realized where she'd ended up. She stood on the very edge of the clearing behind Archer House, but having walked from a different direction, the path she had taken before was opposite to her now. Without pondering why, she made for the boulder she'd sat on while Erik had serenaded her and Anthony with the violin.

Sitting down, she gazed around the clearing, seeing the empty lean-to the goose was supposed to live in and never had, preferring to stay close to the house, and therefore closer to Erik. She tried to recall if she'd seen him lately, and found she couldn't remember the last time she'd heard him honk.

It was quiet and dreary in the little glade; it was missing a very elemental force. Sighing she got to her feet to retrace her steps back home.

"Leaving so soon, Christine? You've only just arrived." His rich voice was in her left ear, feeling very much like a caress, and she shivered. _Wishful thinking?_

It stopped her, hearing words he'd uttered from the first time they'd met face to face, in what seemed to her a lifetime ago. Turning, she watched as he silently entered the glade from the other path, and made his way over to her. In one hand he carried violin and bow...it felt a little like deja vu...the only thing missing was the goose.

Abruptly, she asked. "Where's Anthony? I haven't seen him lately."

He had halted in front of her, and she swept her skirts aside for him to share her rock. The two of them put together, took up very little space. She smiled up at him, the clearing already brighter for his presence. And so was she. "Sit down, Maestro...this is a two-seater."

With some hesitancy, he did as she requested, and for a minute, they sat there a little awkwardly in the quiet of the peaceful afternoon, until he broke the silence and answered her question. "Anthony is safe on a farm about forty miles from here." He shook his head as he took some rosin from his pocket, and applied it to the bow. "Mrs. Cole gave me an ultimatum a week ago...her or the goose. Daroga persuaded me that the better choice would be the housekeeper, but I think he was a little prejudiced, don't you?" he said dryly. "It was a very long, very tedious trip for the poor fellow, stuck in that bag for most of the journey, but he's quite happy now."

"Oh, poor Anthony! To be treated so badly after being such a good goose! I hope he'll be happy on that farm...he was attached to you, I know." She laughed lightly, but Erik could sense her mood and was not fooled.

"Jittery about tomorrow, dear? Don't be. You'll adapt to big city life in no time." He looked away from her and studied the ripples in the little pond, his violin for the moment forgotten, not quite believing she would be gone from him by tomorrow. He turned back to her.

"I saw you from the paddock walking into the woods, and thought from your direction we'd meet up sooner or later, but I would have found you regardless."

"Oh, I know you would...you did so once before." She put a hand over his, feeling its slender length. Some would think his hands frail and weak, but how very wrong they would be.

He stared at her warm hand lying on top of his, then indicated the violin. "But first, I went back to the house for this. A little music before you leave me."

"Yes, of course. You know how I love to hear you play." She kept her eyes on him, wondering why as she looked at his masked face she felt sad, as if something good was coming to an end, and not understanding why it hurt so much.

He nodded slightly, then tucked the instrument beneath his chin and played all of her favorites, mostly classical pieces and a few of his own small compositions. She listened, spellbound at the beauty he wove so effortlessly, and never realized as she watched him that she was crying, until he put down the violin and gathered her into his arms.

"Don't cry." he whispered into her hair as he held her close. "You needn't go if it's making you miserable, dear. Stay here...with me. W-We can go on just like we've been, if that's what you want. Just...stay."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "Aunt Edna says I must go, Erik. S-She said it'll be a good learning experience for me, and...and she thinks I've been spending far too much time in your company."

Erik had nothing to say to that; he'd been afraid all along that Edna Stone wouldn't consent to her niece receiving attentions from a freak of nature, no matter how much money said freak enjoyed. And he'd been correct. Even if Christine tried to soften the truth, it was plain to him, that her aunt felt distance and time would end their friendship, and the chance against all odds for it to grow into something stronger. Hannah had let slip to the Persian that Edna's concern had grown steadily over her niece's attachment to her teacher, and would like to see it ended. But if Christine gave him any intimation that she _wanted_ to be with him now, he would find a way for them to be together. Absolutely no question about that.

What stayed his hand, was her youth...he would do nothing to hurt her; his only choice at this moment was to simply bide his time...and wait. It was much too important for him to do something foolish and lose her now.

But fearing her departure, he pulled away from her and looked deep into her blue eyes. "Do you really _want_ to go, Christine?"

She was silent for a moment, searching her heart for the answer. "No." she whispered finally, feeling as though she were drowning in the yellow depths of his eyes which were alive with a fierce triumphant glitter, and were coming closer...then closer still, until hers fluttered shut, and she felt the barest brush of his lips on hers. The kiss was repeated, but this time the touch of his mouth was firmer and less hesitant, willing a response from the young woman...which she gave shyly. The mask was an unwelcome intrusion; she could feel the silk against her upper lip, when all she wanted was to have his skin pressed close to hers.

His hands had come up to cradle her head between large palms; stroking her temples and jawline with fingers anything but steady, and delighting in the feel of the soft skin beneath his eager fingertips. She hesitantly kissed him back, enjoying his mouth pressed to hers, shaking now from a coiling heat in her belly, his lips on hers sending little explosions of pleasure all through her. She wanted to rub her small breasts against his chest...she _needed_ to feel his hands on them. His mouth...

With a cry, she pushed at him, shamed by her response, but Erik was lost in his own very intense pleasure, and at first, refused to release her. He was dry mouthed with desire, and his hands longed only to touch and stroke her warm flesh, followed by his eager mouth to suck and lick. She went to his head like no whisky ever could, and he wanted nothing more than to lay her down on the ground at their feet and make love to her. He wanted to ease himself into her moist heat and shut out the world. My God...how he longed to shut out the world and not fear tomorrow. His mouth had slipped down to her neck to nibble gently there, muttering hoarse endearments into the soft fragrant skin, until with a start of surprise, he at last realized she was trying to push him away. He dropped his arms immediately from her, feeling his desire shriveling away to nothing, leaving him cold and bereft.

"Stop, E-Erik! Just stop!" Trembling, she was able to get away from him, jumping up from the rock, deeply frightened by her wanton reaction to him.

She put unsteady hands up to her hair which had escaped from its pins, and pushed her blonde curls away from a face flushed from the first passion she'd ever felt in a man's arms. Its very power left her shaking...confused and bewildered by what had just happened. Once again, she only wanted to put distance between her and this man, but now it wasn't his anger from which she needed to escape.

He sat alone on the rock, feeling a black despair coming over him for what he would soon be missing. She would be gone, taking his new-found happiness along with her. In that moment, he completely forgot the stiff pride that had carried him through horrific days and nights in his lifetime, his shoulders bowed under the weight of his desperate love for her.

Christine had backed away from him and stopped. She eyed her teacher warily, but the man in front of her wasn't getting up from the rock, let alone meeting her eyes.

"Erik?" she moved one step closer to him, becoming alarmed at his stillness.

Slowly and with great reluctance, he raised anguished eyes to hers. I never meant for that to happen, Christine." he said on a ragged breath. "Can you ever forgive me?"

She forgot her reticence and approached him close enough to put a hand on one thin shoulder. "Friends, remember? There's nothing to forgive, Maestro." she said softly. "I told my aunt I'd have dinner with her...I must go." She felt anxious and tired all of a sudden, but thinking now, that her aunt may have been right. But not just about her teacher's motives, but her own as well. Her mouth still tingled from the sweet pressure of his, and the muscles in her stomach jumped and twitched. They were becoming far too close in their attentions, and time apart would maybe put a damper on that.

"Will I see you again before you leave?" he asked, as he memorized every line of her dear face.

"I...don't think that would be wise." she said in a low voice, as she gently squeezed his shoulder.

He nodded wearily. "I understand." He stood up, keeping well away from her, but only by the will power he'd been able to achieve through pain and abasement. "You are more dear to me than anything on this Godforsaken planet. I wish you a safe journey and a speedy one back to me." He turned on his heel and disappeared from sight so quickly, she never had the chance to say goodbye.

She couldn't pull her gaze away from where she'd last seen him; she felt the tears welling up again, and turning, she sped from the clearing, pursued by the phantom feel of his arms still around her.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She carried the remnants of their dinner down the backstairs and over to the sink, where Hannah was washing the dishes. Christine grabbed the dish towel and started drying a plate. The housekeeper turned and looked at the young woman's solemn face.

"Land's sake, child, what's put you in such a sorry mood? You should be excited...you've wanted this school for so long, and now you're acting as if you're being forced into it!"

Christine set the plate on the table and reached for another one. "Hannah..." She stopped, not knowing how to begin. She was confused about her feelings for Erik and embarrassed at asking questions that might reveal too much. "When did you first realize you were in love?"

The older woman paused in her washing up and regarded Christine silently. _Well, there it is. _She'd known something had happened between the two of them the other day. _Watch it__ now, Giry._ "I just knew. Of course, I was much older than you are now."

"But _how_ did you know?"

Hannah shrugged. "Little things mostly. When he was away from me, I missed him something fierce until he was with me again. Most of the time, I could think of nothing _but_ him." She made a face. "It's called love-sickness, and that's about right."

Christine was silent, seemingly absorbed in drying another dish. Hannah smiled, indicating the plate. "It's more than dry now after all that rubbing. Sit down, Christine, please. I think we need to have a talk."

The younger woman looked up in surprise, then said hastily. "I was only curious, Hannah. That's all."

The housekeeper took a seat at the table and sighed wearily. "Oh, it feels good to sit a while." She looked up at the girl poised to escape the kitchen quickly, and patted the chair across from her. "Humor me a little and sit down. This might be our last chat before you leave tomorrow."

Christine approached slowly and sat down, perching on the edge of the chair. "I can't stay long. I have a letter to write."

She nodded, then looked at the girl calmly. "I already know that Erik is in love with you. A blind man could see it, child. Question is...do you fancy yourself in love with _him_?"

That startled her. She raised worried eyes to the housekeeper. "You won't say anything to my aunt, will you, Hannah?"

"As long as he hasn't taken any liberties with you...no." She reached a hand across the table to the younger woman. "Want to tell me about it?"

She nodded and squeezed the older woman's hand. "I took a walk earlier and met him in the woods. H-He had his violin with him and he played it for me." She stopped and stared at the tabletop.

"And...?" Hannah prodded her gently.

Christine took a deep breath. "He kissed me. And...and I enjoyed it...a lot." Her cheeks were tinted pink, but now that the subject had been broached, she felt relief that she could talk to someone. "Am I in love with him, or...or was I wrong for letting him kiss me?"

She decided to keep quiet about the kisses shared with Raoul. She didn't want Hannah thinking she was in the habit of kissing every man who came along. And Raoul's gentle kisses didn't make her feel as if she were teetering on the edge of something dark and all-consuming...something wonderful and terrifying. Worthy of shattering souls.

Hannah laughed softly and shook her head. "No, you're not bad. Kissing can be very pleasurable, but a woman can't let just any man have that privilege...he has to be special. Is he, Christine?"

She jumped up from the chair. "Yes! I-I mean no!" She raised her hands to flushed cheeks and moaned. "I don't know, Hannah! I just don't know!"

She took a deep breath and sat back down. "He's my teacher and my friend, so yes...he's special in that way, but I'm not sure about love. I _do _think of him a lot, and I know I'm going to miss him when I leave here. What can I do? I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt him! I-I just couldn't."

The housekeeper searched the girl's anxious face. "Do? Why nothing, child, except go to St. Louis as you planned to do all along. If it's love you're feeling, you'll know soon enough after some time apart. I'm sure Erik will still be here waiting. Did he say he loved _you_?"

The younger woman shook her head wearily. "No. Not in so many words."

"I don't expect it's easy for him to bare himself to anyone." Hannah smiled gently at the young woman. "It will eventually sort itself out." Then a thought occurred to her. "What about Raoul? Where does _he_ stand with you?"

She sighed and shrugged. "I liked him well enough last summer...I still do!" She gave her a look of disgust. "I thought falling in love was supposed to be wonderful! Not make me feel sad and so confused, but I guess Raoul is who I expected to love someday...not someone like my teacher."

"Give it time, child. You're young and have a lot of living to do yet. Love is not all roses and moonbeams...it can be hard and unforgiving as well. Just remember that. It can start out grand, but end up leaving you all alone and hurting."

Christine nodded slowly, realizing Hannah was talking about her husband, and there was still bitterness after all these years. "Thank you, Hannah. You've helped a lot." She got to her feet, ready to write that letter now.

"Christine?"

She turned back to the housekeeper. "This is just between you and me, mind. Your aunt has her heart set on someone else for you...she's convinced Erik's not good enough." Hannah looked at her shrewdly. "You could do a whole lot worse than him when the time comes. He may not be a handsome man, and I think he's one that some would do well to steer clear of, but when it comes to you, I think his heart is in the right place."

She nodded and went upstairs, and sitting down at her vanity, started her letter.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Saturday morning, Nadir finished dressing, then grabbed the letter Christine had given to him the night before, and walked over to the house. The minute he walked in the door, the loud, rhythmic pounding reached his ears from two stories above his head and a fine dust was settling on every surface of the housekeeper's pristine kitchen. "Allah have mercy! What is he about _now_?" he complained to no one in particular.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the stove, after wiping the dirt out of it, and made his way to the stairs, nearly colliding with an irate Mrs. Cole. "Look at this mess, Mr. Nadir! I ask you...why must I _chase_ the dirt now?" and she swept by him with a broom and a feather duster. She was right, he noticed. Fine dirt was sifting from the ceiling above their heads and dulling much of the furniture and floors, as well as floating in the air around them.

"Here now, Mrs. Cole. Show me where the dust sheets are kept...we'll cover all we can, and soon have it set to rights. Courage! This _is_ our Erik, you know! You should be well used to his sudden fits and starts. Come, I'll help you...don't worry." His own ire was rising fast, and he cursed his friend again for not thinking before going off on some hare-brained scheme. Mrs. Cole, times without number threatened to quit, and the Persian was always terrified she would do just that, for the masked man was not the ideal employer...how many homeowners skulked silently from one dark room to the next, ate perhaps five forkfuls of a meal that had taken hours to prepare, and played music well into the night? Nadir, on the other hand, enjoyed regular meals, not to mention the delightful pies and cakes she made, and if she quit them, he would be left to scrounge for a new housekeeper-cook or do the cooking himself. He shuddered at the very thought. Erik would be absolutely useless...the man was a near genius, but couldn't follow a recipe to save his life. He shook a fist at the ceiling when Mrs. Cole left to get the dust sheets. "Damn you, Erik! You infidel!"

After a hasty thirty minutes of helping Mrs. Cole cover the furniture, and once having to remove a dust sheet to release an indignant Lucifer from a chair where he'd been napping, the Persian finally made his way up to the third floor with his now cold, cup of coffee.

He wandered down the hall behind the stairs, following the noise, leaving his footprints in the considerable dust on the floor. He found his friend two doors down on the left of the hallway, standing in front of a large gaping hole in the wall of the empty room.

Erik turned and looked briefly at Nadir, then swung the large sledge hammer with impressive force and a resounding impact. Choking dust arose, plus chunks of plaster and wallpaper, clinging to jagged pieces of wood. Nadir shook his head, once again astounded at the considerable strength his friend had when he looked like a strong breeze could blow him over. He moved to heave the heavy sledge back at the wall, when the Persian stopped him with a shout.

"Allah have mercy! What is this, Erik? What madness are you trying to accomplish by pulling the house down around our ears?"

The masked man paused in his swing, and leaned the hammer against the mangled wall. His black mask was covered in dust, making it appear tan in color. The eyes turned his way were red-rimmed and weary.

"This? Why, daroga...do you mean to tell me you don't recognize it? It's as plain as the large, but very admirable nose on your face!" he said wickedly.

Nadir simply stared at him knowing from experience that this was Erik's idea of teasing.

"Ah...I see you have given up already! Very well. It's a solarium for Christine." He nodded at the wall. "Four of the rooms up here on both sides of the hall will be used for the space, but this," and he gestured with one dust covered hand at the gaping hole, "is a load bearing wall and a good deal of it must remain...I intend for this to be an archway into an area with a fountain...several archways in fact will be figured into the design, or I assure you the house _will_ come down around your big ears. You see, it's quite simple really..." His mouth abruptly closed when Nadir started waving the letter in his face, rather like a flag of surrender.

"I don't have time for this, Erik! Mrs. Cole is right at this moment fighting a losing battle against an army of your dirt. If I don't appease her, and quickly, I will get no breakfast!" He handed the letter to his friend, who had gone absolutely still at recognizing the neat handwriting on the envelope.

"Who gave this to you?" he said quietly, still looking at the envelope in his hand.

"Christine. She came over last night to say goodbye, and gave it to me then." he said gently, feeling a vast pity for his friend.

Erik, hands on narrow hips, turned back to the wall, studying the jagged opening closely. "Did she...ask for me, daroga?" he said much too casually.

The Persian shook his head. "Only to request that I give this to you." He squeezed his friend's arm. "And for me to make certain that you don't forget to eat. She was gone early this morning. Go on and read your letter, my friend. I'll be downstairs."

After Nadir left, he walked over to the window and sat down on the floor, drawing his knees up, his back to the wall. He knew damned well when she'd left...he'd watched from the tower room as she exited her house, briefly looking up at his window before entering the hired barouche with Madame Jules and her daughter for the trip to the station. But the fact that she'd been here last night while he was in the cellar wallowing in self-pity filled him with regret, and taking a deep breath, he instantly began coughing from the dust he'd ingested which had been clinging to his mask. Carefully, he removed it and slapped it smartly against one knee, before returning it to his face, his tortured flesh tingling from the air to which it had been briefly exposed.

Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, he carefully tore the envelope open with hands not quite steady. He read the sheets of paper inside. And read them again. Then holding the pages to his lips, he put his head down on his knees and wearily closed his eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

_January 10, 1885_

_ My dearest Maestro,_

_ I sincerely hope this missive finds you well. I have tried innumerable times to write sooner; I can't count the short note I sent you at Christmas thanking you for the lovely roses, but life at the conservatory does not move at a slow pace. Thank __**you**__ for the lengthy letter you sent me. You don't know how I perked up the day it was handed to me._

_ I'm very glad the rehearsals for the new opera are going so well, and Julia is doing her best for you. ( ha! without even knowing that she does) It relieves my mind that I didn't leave you without a decent replacement, what with opening night not so far away! _

_ On this front, I have settled in nicely at the conservatory, and the workload isn't all that bad, thanks to **your** brilliant teaching. See! All those lectures of yours actually made a difference for me! The instructors are keeping us on our toes, but none of them can hold a candle to **my** maestro, though. And now you may ask- why did I leave you then?_

_I told you in the letter I gave to Nadir on the eve of my departure, that I needed time, Erik. Time to make sense of these confused feelings I have for you. One thing has become very clear to me thus far. I miss you. Your voice...conversation...guidance, and yes- dare I say it? Your touch. Of course, Aunt Edna is imposing this on me, but I believe it's only a matter of time before I can convince her where my true feelings lie. Please bear with me and don't lose patience, I beg you. You told me in your last letter, that I may have the privilege of seeing you, perhaps in two weeks time. You needn't ask me if it's permissible...I never meant for you to stay away forever. Merely long enough for me to sort out my feelings. I think that when next I see you, I can put your mind at rest. Mine as well. I am excited for that possibility. Again. May I say it? I miss you._

_ So if business brings you to St. Louis, then I will expect a visit from my favorite teacher. At the moment, I can't think of anyone I would enjoy visiting with more. Give Nadir my best. And now **you** owe me a letter! Take good care of yourself._

_Always, _

_Christine_

_ XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

He carefully folded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. He snorted. The only business he had to conduct in St. Louis was to pull her into his arms and kiss her until standing upright was no longer an option for either one of them. Two weeks? No and no. He would leave as soon as this ill-timed business with the Gilda replacement was resolved. Her note had perked _him _up as well, after the less than ideal start to his day. His heart had trip-hammered at her words, and a tremendous longing for her swept over him. He stopped in the corridor and put a hand to the wall, closing his eyes briefly. His Christine! He missed her to the point of physical pain, and he could barely think straight, let alone hope that she could actually love him.

In her first letter given to him by Nadir, she must have feared that he would follow her to St. Louis. And she would have been correct. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, and he'd felt let down when she'd requested that he stay away. And Erik had...

But now she wished to see him and he was anxious to leave here and fly to her side...he wanted nothing more than to hold her close. He sobered when he looked at the problem confronting the opera house. Julia Bardot, indeed! She was now laid up with a badly sprained ankle from a fall backstage. Some fool of a stagehand left rope and tackle lying on the floor, and she had twisted her foot in it. If he found the culprit, he would pay dearly for his carelessness. But it wasn't as if he expected things to go smoothly. What in his life ever had? Their diva was down with laryngitis indefinitely; she was only capable of croaking like a frog, never mind reaching for that high C. He was quite sure that this was what constituted a crisis, but having received a letter from his girl made it much more palatable. He straightened, and continued walking, wanting only to put this business behind him and get to St. Louis. He opened the door to the manager's office and walked in on a deep discussion between Nadir and Samuel.

They glanced up when Erik entered the room. "Gentlemen. I assume you both have a solid reason for this impromptu meeting, and I sincerely hope it has everything to do with the need for a new Gilda. Miss Bardot has to be replaced and quickly. My choice, as you well know is Marie Landry, but Reyer said you wished to speak to me with your concerns, Samuel." He pinned Sorelli with an intense look. "We have a sold out house with which to contend, so let's get on with it." He glanced at both men, sensing their unease. "Well? Care to tell me what this is about?" Samuel was startled by the pleasant tone of voice and easy manner of the masked man, not being used to it, and with a twinge of sadness knew that it was about to change. This would be the opportune time to speak up.

"Erik...you asked me once if I would be willing to fight for what's best for this theatre, even if it meant going against your wishes..." He paused and took a deep breath...he'd never had to butt heads with his boss; this would be uncharted territory for him, and he struggled under that steady gaze, as he fought for the right words.

"Look, Erik...I-I don't agree with your decision concerning the Landry girl...t-there's another you may have over-looked to-to replace Julia." He glanced over at the Persian who shrugged slightly, and jerked his head toward the door. "Nadir will explain it to you. I'll...I'll be right back," and with that cryptic exchange, he left the room quickly, letting out a relieved sigh at escaping those suddenly narrowed eyes, even if only for a moment.

Erik turned back to his friend and looked at him expectantly. "I abhor surprises, daroga. Nasty ones in particular. Explain, if you don't mind."

The Persian cleared his throat, knowing how swiftly his friend's good mood could evaporate, and glanced toward the door. "It seems that one of the chorus girls has suggested she's the best one for the part, and Samuel thinks she may be right...with a little bit of work. Reyer agrees."

"And since when does a mere _chorus girl_ make the hard decisions and decide who should or shouldn't take on a role?" Erik said in a quiet voice, and Nadir winced, knowing this was the calm before the storm.

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, Sorelli returned. He looked from his boss, seeing his suspicion, to Nadir, who glanced quickly at him with a barely perceivable shrug.

"Boss...the young lady is just outside the door. Will you see her now?" Samuel said nervously to an increasingly angry Erik.

When the masked man spoke, his voice at first was smooth, even, and deadly. "I have not willingly shown myself to anyone since these doors first opened, and now you want me to introduce myself to a member of the _chorus?_ Who the hell is she?"

Erik's voice had steadily risen until it reverberated in the small office, seeming to come from everywhere at once, and his eyes were sparking dangerously. Samuel's knees had begun to knock; he'd yet to ever see his boss this angry, and he was fast becoming terrified. He looked helplessly at the Persian.

"Erik..."

**"WHO IS SHE?"** he thundered.

"Becky Drake." the Persian said quietly, for he was well used to his friend's rapid slides into rage. "There's no help for it, Erik. She knows your identity. I think you should see her...and right away."

_He_ took a deep breath, mourning the loss of his fleeting happiness from just moments ago, and abruptly let go of it. He wasn't exactly surprised at hearing that name, but he cursed himself for allowing her, of all people to find out his identity, and he briefly wondered how she'd accomplished it. Obviously, it was a time when he and Christine were together in the opera house...there really was no other place possible that they could have been overheard. Gradually, he felt a chill calm take hold of him. _She_ wished to speak with him? Then she would get the chance. "Bring her in then, Samuel. I want to get this over with now."

The other two men noted his large hands clenching and unclenching, as if waiting impatiently for the chance to wrap themselves around her neck and squeeze the life from it. Samuel turned and opened the door, ushering inside a smiling Becky. But the smile lasted only long enough to get a close view of the man she was attempting to blackmail. Then it faltered and died when she realized she was in over her head, and hastily backed away from him.

From a safer distance, she looked up at the man in front of her, noting his thinness...his pale ugly features, and sucked in a breath. She swallowed noticeably, and tried to remember the prize she was working to attain, but it was very difficult to think of diva status, when faced with someone who repulsed her so much. And Daae was..._attached_ to this man?

He said nothing, but continued to stare with venomous eyes at her, thinking of a number of painful ways to do away with this threat to his nearly invisible presence in the opera house and St. Joseph. He had been enjoying the tender roots he'd put down after years of wandering from place to empty place. He had purpose now, and with a quickening pulse, he thought of his Christine and how much this bitch of a woman had bedeviled her. His hatred for her grew.

Samuel led her to a chair, and on shaky legs she went and sat on the one in front of the desk gratefully, for she wouldn't have been able to stand much longer in _his_ presence. He stood there in the middle of the room, head lowered and fists clenched at his sides...the yellow glow of his unnatural eyes were fixed unblinkingly on her. With a cautious look at Erik, Samuel finally took matters into his own hands.

"Miss Drake came to me not long after Miss Bardot's unfortunate accident yesterday, and said she knows the part of Gilda better than anyone. She...she said she is aware of your identity and will tell no one, if you wish it."

Erik's hands had gone behind his back, feeling the need to keep some distance between his long digits and Becky Drake's skinny neck.

"Mr. Archer. I-I know I can do Gilda as well as anyone here. Please...if you just give me t-the chance..." She sputtered to a stop, squirming beneath his murderous glare.

"What leads you to believe _I'm_ the reclusive Mr. Archer, _Miss _Drake, let alone the owner of this establishment?" he said softly, while his gaze raked over her.

Her face had reddened at the sneer in his voice, a voice which took her by surprise with its silken tones the first time she'd heard it near the alley door. Even couched as it was in anger, it was warm and vibrant, and if she was the type to feel shame she would at that moment be crawling underneath the desk.

"Well, b-because I overheard my good friend, Christine Daae some time ago, addressing you by that n-name and revealing your ownership of the opera house." At the mention of Christine, he stepped toward Becky, and she hurriedly jumped to her feet and went behind Samuel.

Nadir moved forward quickly and put a hand on Erik's arm to halt his forward momentum, but he'd already taken a deep breath and stopped on his own.

He glanced over at Samuel. "Leave us. I'd like to speak with _Miss _Drake privately." He put a hand out to the Persian as he began to follow the manager to the door. "No, not you, daroga."

Sorelli nodded, and with a swift glance at Becky, left the room with a sigh of relief. He wondered what the girl was playing at, locking horns with Erik? She would only lose in the end.

He turned back and settled his gaze on Becky. "Listening at keyholes, were you? And that's not nearly as low as you can sink, is it? Don't ever mention _her_ name in my presence again...do you hear me? You will never be as good as she. _Never _forget that fact." He stood in front of her once again, hands tight behind his back. "Let me see if I understand you. To ensure your silence, I need only make you Gilda. Is that right?" His stare only succeeded in making her squirm again, and for a moment, she couldn't say a word. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light, and she wondered briefly, if she'd been a little too hasty.

"Cat got your tongue, Miss Drake?" he said in a sly, silky tone, and her uneasiness grew.

She hastily nodded her head. "Y-Yes. And...and I will t-tell no one. But I know I can do the part. I've..."

"I'm not interested in what _you_ think you're capable of doing!" he sneered.

He walked over to the door and opened it. "Get out of my sight," and he nailed her with his cold gaze. "Speak of this to _anyone_, and I will gladly remove your tongue. I don't make idle threats, Miss Drake, so believe me when I say this."

She was smart enough to comply, and with head down, she scuttled out of the room. Once the door closed on her, he swore viciously, and with angry strides, picked up the chair where she'd been sitting, and hurled it at the wall, gouging out divots of plaster, and breaking off a chair leg in the process. Not feeling any better, he decided to do the same with Samuel's leather chair, until the Persian put a restraining hand on his arm and stopped him.

"Erik! Destroying the manager's office is not helping matters at all! Please. Sit down on the only _good_ chair left in the room, and I'll pour you a drink. Go calmly, my friend. We shall figure this out presently."

He shook off Nadir's hold on him, and unclenching his fingers, raked them through his hair. He took a steadying breath, then shook his head, his rage dying, leaving him tired and heart-sore. "None for me. I couldn't stomach even that at the moment. She _knows_ who I am, that wasp tongued whelp of a she-snake. A curse take her and her conniving ways! I _told_ Christine she was trouble! And what did I do? I most conveniently forget about her! Since we began living here, I've forgotten quite a few of life's most brutal lessons. Do you realize how often she has used that adder's tongue of hers against my Christine? I intend to kill her, daroga."

It was said without emotion, and to the Persian it held more deadly intent than any amount of shouting ever would. He sighed and reached inside the cabinet for the bottle of scotch. Pouring himself a stiff drink, he tossed a mouthful back, allowing the smooth whisky to slide down his throat.

"Unfortunately,we shall have to use her. Reyer told me there is no one else, Erik...not in the short amount of time we have until opening night. And you know damned well she's better for the part than Marie Landry. You're letting this...this feud between her and Christine color your decision, but you can't afford to be that way! And whether you wish to or not, _you_ must groom her for the stage."

At his friend's hostile glare, he hastened to speak. "You know what I'm telling you is the truth! We have a sold out house, Erik, and Gilda is an integral part of Rigoletto. It could be a disaster for this opera house if the production becomes less than what people have come to expect." He eyed his friend beseechingly. "We can deal with her after the production ends its run, but use her now, I implore you! This is _your_ opera house after all! As much as you rely on myself and Samuel, you still need to have an active role here."

Erik knew his friend was right. Becky claimed she knew the part, and that could be ascertained easily enough. Her voice was only fair, but with a few lessons, he could bring her up to passable for the role. And yes, she _was_ better than the Landry chit, but he couldn't fathom working with the very woman who'd made his dear girl miserable, so doggedly, he continued his fight against her. "She has caused much trouble for Christine, daroga...it feels like betrayal to me." he growled.

Nadir shook his head wearily. "Christine is no longer a part of this opera house, my friend, and in a roundabout way, it's because of her leaving that we _have_ this particular problem." He put up a hand when he caught the icy stare Erik was shooting his way. "Peace. I mean no disrespect to her, you understand. We all do what we must." he said, regarding his friend with a telling look. "Simply keep in mind that as soon as you have another soprano for the part, you may cut Miss Drake loose with impunity."

At his friend's silence, he knew the argument had been won. And now if he could only keep him from killing Becky Drake before opening night, they just might get through this.

"All right. But let me understand if I have this correctly." he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "According to you, I just let her go once the production is finished. Mm...yes, I can see it, daroga. But what happens when she opens her bitch's mouth about who lives at Archer House? Hm? I have made sure to keep my comings and goings unobtrusive, and for what? Better yet, why not just sell tickets so they may watch the freak perform tricks and sing for his supper? Why, we can even set up a stage and chairs behind the house. The only thing missing will be the filthy, stinking bastard with his whip!" he railed, his voice becoming choked and desperate.

The Persian poured two fingers of scotch in a glass and silently handed it to his friend. "Here, drink. She will remain quiet for now. She sees herself as becoming the diva...she will not wish to jeapordize that."

A faint smile played around the Persian's well-cut lips. "Of course, another factor working in our favor is Miss Drake's need to keep her tongue in her possession. We're safe for now, I think." He glanced with sympathy in his dark eyes for his friend of many years, who had suddenly been forced to remember a nightmare he'd spent years trying to forget.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to come up with a solution for her silence.

"_Without_ resorting to violence," he added firmly.

Nadir wished that everything he'd just told his friend was not simply a fairy tale for fools.

_ XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She made her way up the stairs beside a silent Nadir Khan, wishing he would say something..._anything_, to quell the nasty butterflies loose in her stomach. She had spent much of the day at rehearsal, and they had worked on the blocking for the opera. It had been decided that she would take instruction at Archer House for one hour every evening until opening night. For Becky's protection, Mrs. Cole _and_ the Persian would be present for the entire hour. Nadir wasn't certain if Erik could keep his temper under control for that long a period of time around the young woman. With himself and the housekeeper watching, he would be impelled to behave. He sighed in disgust. He could think of better ways to spend an hour. It had been mentioned to Erik that her hour of instruction would be better suited to the opera house, but the masked man was toiling night and day on Christine's _surprise_, and could work right up to Becky's lesson, and get right back to it after she left.

To a puzzled Nadir, his friend seemed to have lost interest in the theatre since Christine left for St. Louis; he was spending much less time there, and leaving the running of it to the Persian and Samuel Sorelli. In fact, before this whole debacle had blown up in their faces, he'd been on his way to Christine. Erik had informed him of this just after the Drake girl had changed his plans, and so he worked in a nearly obsessive fashion on Christine's solarium, putting all of his considerable love for the young woman into the building of her retreat.

But the Persian's thoughts were still on the unfortunate need to replace not one, but two of the sopranos in the company. To the ex-lawman of the shah-in-shah of Mazeradan, the idea that two sopranos had been incapacitated so close together raised his suspicions, but that's all they were...he had attempted to explain his misgivings to his friend, but he'd barely listened. Too much of Erik was in St. Louis.

Becky was very impressed with Archer House, and tried to look everywhere at once. Mr. Archer had excellent taste in furnishings, although she preferred more florals and brighter colors. She'd looked at everything avidly, as they passed through the house, realizing the man at least had wealth to recommend him, not to mention, the St. Joseph Opera House. Any wife of his would live in luxury and style.

The Persian led her through the tower room door, where Mrs. Cole was already ensconced in the chair by the window with a basket of sewing. Erik was seated at the piano, and refused to rise when Becky and Nadir entered the room. It was a direct cut, and an ugly flush stained the young woman's face as Nadir led her over to the grand.

"Delivered to you as required," and saying that, he took a seat across the room and opened the paper he'd tucked under his arm and began to read.

The masked man looked over his shoulder at the young woman and said curtly, "Step over here," and he gestured to the bow of the piano. "Warm-ups first, then the introduction to the aria. We shall see if your lies extend to your knowledge of Gilda. Begin."

And so the hour went, leaving Mrs. Cole to enjoy a brief respite from her usual work, Nadir restless and bored, Becky frazzled after many tongue lashings from Erik, and the masked man himself, totally unmoved. Eventually they settled into a pattern, and over the three weeks leading up to opening night, it became somewhat easier in Erik's presence...for the most part, he simply ignored her.

But a few things had surprisingly become apparent to Becky. The masked man was an uncommonly fine pianist...she had attended a few piano recitals in Kansas City, and once, her parents had taken her to New York, where they had attended a recital at the Met. None of the musicians could touch him in skill and dexterity. She couldn't afford to let her attention wander too far from the instruction, for it seemed to her he was awaiting just such a lapse in her concentration, and he could therefore use his poison tongue against her.

But the more he raged at her in front of an unmoved Nadir and stone-faced housekeeper, the more intrigued she became by him. His voice, even raised in anger and contempt, was beautiful in its very timbre. The first time she'd walked into the tower room to see the black mask, it had startled her, but now she was more or less used to it, and intensely interested in what was beneath it. Daae must have been on to something, and now she wondered if Christine had seen under it, and perhaps other more interesting things lower down. She couldn't stop a giggle from leaving her lips, and his head snapped up.

"Something amusing, is it? You are merely adequate as Gilda. If you have any illusions as to your instrument being any better than that...well then, get rid of them quickly."

"Yes of course, Maestro." It hadn't just slipped from her mouth without thought. Christine had called him that, that day in the corridor when she'd learned Mr. Archer's identity, and Becky liked the sound of it...for now he was _her_ teacher, not Daae's. But she let out a sharp scream when the masked man surged to his feet, and with an unnatural speed, descended on a terrified Becky. He grabbed her chin in those horribly long fingers, and yanked her head up to meet his glaring eyes. "_Never _call me that again. Do you understand?" She was impelled to look into his blazing eyes, and frightened, she nodded her head, even as he kept his iron fingers around her jaws.

Nadir had just as quickly appeared near the two of them...a white faced Mrs. Cole hastily stood up, her sewing on the floor at her feet.

The Persian put a hand on his friend's arm. "Erik. Unhand her, now."

He shook off Nadir's hand. "I have no intention of harming her, daroga." he snapped. "Why would I go through the drudgery of teaching, then strangle her? No, she _will_ sing onstage as Gilda," but he stared at her a moment longer with those frightful eyes that shone the color of gold coins, then released her. "_You_ may call me Erik...or sir, if it pleases you, but never call me _that_ again." he said with finality, his gaze boring into hers one last time, as he straightened to his full height. As if it had meant nothing at all to him, he went back to the piano, and began playing. Becky took a shuddering breath, feeling the throb from the grip of that cold hand. Shaking, she tried to compose herself and hesitantly approached the ogre at the piano.

Her equilibrium slowly returned, her fright receded, and she became Rigoletto's beautiful young daughter once more. At the end of the lesson, Erik abruptly stood, and without a single word to her, swiftly left the room, leaving Nadir to escort her to the door.

"Remember young woman. Not a word of these lessons to anyone." the dark skinned Gypsy man said to her at the kitchen door. "It's in your best interests to tread very lightly around Erik. He's not one with which to trifle." His implied threat was there, and she nodded quickly, and slipped outside into the frigid air of a January evening. She was if anything, tenacious, and on the walk home, she was again deciding the best moves for her future, which just might include the volatile man who'd been seated at the grand. Obvious, even to her, was his still very deep attachment to Christine. But...well, she could change that, given time...she was sure of it...

And his distaste for _her_.

He despised her...even Becky could see that; she was only here to fulfill a role. A role she plotted and worked hard for; first to receive her undivided attention was to have been the caterwauling Carlotta. Just an itty bitty amount of lye water in her throat spray backstage would have worked its magic and shut her mouth for quite a while, but Becky's lucky star had shone bright once again, for Carlotta had ended up with laryngitis brought on by a nasty head cold.

Which had also been lucky for Carlotta. She had overheard her mother a year ago discussing the lye poisoning of her grandmother's maid one afternoon. The servant had become pregnant without benefit of matrimony, and having been terminated from her position, she'd ended her life after swallowing lye water. She frowned though when she remembered the rest of the conversation she'd overheard, and the shock she'd felt at the mention of her father's name amid the hushed whispers. Ridiculous! Father with that slut? She hadn't believed it then, and she refused to believe it now. Even if Becky _had_ caught him with his hand down the pantry maid's dress one evening two years ago...well, that didn't mean he would bed one of them, did it?

Which brought her back to the second roadblock she'd faced and conquered. Julia Bardot. Becky let a sweaty drunk like Joseph Buquet paw and fondle her breasts for the payment of stage lines and tackle left on the floor, along with the dimming of some of the gas lights. Poor Julia. She _always_ headed straight for the water closet on their break...no deviation whatsoever. What fool would leave a pile of rope at the top of that short flight of stairs? The girl was lucky...it could have been so much worse for her...why, she could have _broken _her ankle instead of just spraining it badly, or God forbid...her neck! But wasn't _she_ one of the first to visit with the girl and commiserate with her?

As long as she got her chance to perform as Gilda, she would be satisfied, for once the public heard her onstage, they would demand her return in much larger roles; she would replace La Carlotta, and then Erik would be forced to keep her in the company, and...well, maybe she could work on him...she wasn't unattractive. Why, no other woman had her beautiful curls or creamy skin, and Mother had sent all the way to New York for the latest style of bustle just for her. In her new, royal blue watered silk dress, he would no doubt be tempted just like the others. Even more so with someone like him. He was difficult now and had quite a bad temper...she shivered, thinking of those eyes of his, which were more animal than human, but if she was friendlier to him, and admiring...he'd come around...men loved that. She could afford to be a little nicer. She smiled a secret smile. _Much nicer_.

She thought Christine was a fool to leave St. Joe when she already had a secure spot in the company. It was quite possible if she never came back, Becky could fill her shoes...in more ways than one. Marrying a wealthy man, albeit a badly scarred one, was tempting, especially when he owned an opera house where his wife could become the reigning diva.

Walter Donleavy had appeared to be a good catch; handsome, charming and well-to-do. The first two had been true enough, but he was no more rich than the man who delivered their milk every morning. He simply enjoyed gambling what money he did have, away to someone like her father. She had listened in at closed doors in her house, and knew that financially her father was barely afloat. Bad investments and a taste for cards had taken much of his wealth, and that's why her parents had pushed her in the direction of Walter. When the state of his finances had been broached, he'd readily admitted to her father that his pockets were practically empty.

He had been enjoyable company though, and she'd actually enjoyed his kisses on quite a few buggy rides. But that's as far as she'd let him go; she wasn't giving it away for free. Maybe Erik had wanted the same from Christine, and because she was a shrinking violet, the very thought of being that close to such a man, had scared her away. Of course, right now he probably mistrusted _all_ women because of Christine's defection, but she would show him just how tender she could be, then he'd change his mind about her. _S__he _wouldn't run away from him.

And once they were married, they needn't spend any time together, except for certain distasteful functions husbands expected from their wives. She supposed he'd want what all men wanted...putting his thing inside a woman as often as he could. She shuddered at that possibility, not relishing the thought of that man on top of her any more than was necessary. A mistress would be an excellent idea if there were any not so squeamish about whom they bedded.

Yes. She could envision a life with him. It was an enormous house which he owned, with plenty of rooms to keep them out of each other's way for most of the time. And perhaps there were the means of ridding oneself of unpleasant duties. Accidents happened all the time, and wives became widows in the wink of an eye; how much better though to be left a _wealthy_ one.

Her twisted rant went on as she thought of his masked face again, and the seeds of her seduction continued to grow.


	19. Chapter 19

The February afternoon was gray with an icy rain falling. Those coming through the main front doors of the conservatory were wet and shivering, seeking only a place to warm chilled hands and numbed toes. Raoul, Christine noticed, wasn't any different.

"Here, let me have your hat and coat. You go on over to the fire and get warm." She bustled away to hang up his things, and the young man walked over to the fireplace, and held out his hands to the welcome heat. The great room of the conservatory was large, with a hodgepodge of mismatched furniture where the students could entertain guests with a good degree of comfort, settling in to chat on worn, but comfortable sofas and chairs. At the moment, there was only one other couple in the room and they were talking in low tones, heads close together.

He envied them. He had been coming to visit Christine every chance he got, and they enjoyed each other's company, but the shy move toward something warmer, had slowed and finally stopped altogether. He was puzzled as to the reason, but thought then, it was simply school becoming more difficult for her. He was starting to struggle a little, so possibly it was the same for Christine as well. But how hard could music be? he thought. It wasn't the same as studying to become a doctor or lawyer, was it? Her voice _was_ lovely, but it was still just singing.

Then one afternoon in early December, she'd asked him to sit down with her in the great room. By the look of her solemn face, the subject matter would be anything but enjoyable. And as he discovered, it wasn't. She folded her hands in her lap and seemed to be having difficulty finding a place to begin.

Her smile was sickly, and feeling concern, he reached for one of her hands. "What is it?" he asked her softly. "Something wrong at home?"

She looked at their clasped hands and gave her head a shake. "No. Nothing is wrong at home. Raoul..." She raised troubled eyes to his. "Look..." and she sighed in defeat. "There's no easy way to say this...but...oh dear!"

He was surprised to see tears, and his uneasiness grew. "Look, Chris. Just say it, all right? You're beginning to worry me."

She took a deep breath, and stared out the window at the busy street, knowing she would just have to say it and stop dragging it out. "Raoul? There's...s-someone else. There _has_ been for quite some time, b-but I just didn't realize how much h-he meant to me." She looked up at him stricken, and hated having to hurt him like this. "I'm so sorry."

"_What_?" He stared at her then, wondering for just a second, what she was talking about. Then it hit him. "You've met a...a man since coming to St. Louis? Is that it?"

Christine shook her head. "No. I met him back home. I-I've known him for two years now. We _were_ friends, but since I left home...I-I realized that it's more than that." She saw the disbelief in his eyes. She put a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry, Raoul. Truly...I am."

He looked at her blankly, his face appearing as if carved from stone, then she saw the disbelief in his eyes and also a growing anger. "Who is he? What's his name?"

"N-No one you know...his name isn't important."

Pain was etched on his face, and he looked at her unsmiling. "Why don't you want me to know his name? Do you think I'm going to go after him, Christine? Afraid for your _lover_?" he said taunting her. A few heads had turned their way, but the couple weren't even aware of them.

"No, I'm afraid for you, Raoul. Erik is not a patient man. What's more, he can get very angry in a short period of time."

"You're afraid for _me_?" he said in a doubting tone. "Who is he? Some dangerous desperado?"

She shook her head, feeling numb. She would have liked to escape the room right then. "No. Of course not." she said weakly, but knowing how close it was to the truth. "Look, Raoul...I hope you can eventually forgive me. I didn't plan for any of this to happen. I...it just did. M-Maybe someday you can see that. I'm so sorry." she whispered, placing a hand on his, and was relieved when he didn't try and shake it off. But after a minute, he stood up.

"I thought I was important to you, Christine...the way you are to _me_." He reached for his hat, nearly crushing it in his hand. "But I can see that's not the case." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to master his hurt and anger, for they were both there. But what surprised him, was the fact that he didn't feel as though it was the worst day of his life. In a strange way he felt relief, but he didn't look too deeply just then for the reason why. "Erik? Erik who? Is he some handsome Swede who swept you off your feet?"

She shook her head, feeling bad for him, but not seeing any other way to handle this. "Forgive me, Raoul. I never meant to hurt you."

He saw the distress in her worried blue eyes and sighed heavily. A couple of beers at Harrigan's Saloon were looking very good. " I don't know what you want me to say, Christine, but _I_ need time to think this over."

Those were the very same words she'd written in her letter to Erik. Time indeed. It seemed to be the one commodity of which they all had plenty.

He stayed away for two weeks, so she was surprised, but pleased when he arrived at the conservatory just before Christmas, with a bright red poinsettia plant, and sporting a small blonde mustache on his upper lip. Christine hid a smile, seeing it and said nothing, just relieved that he'd forgiven her. Things were awkward for a while, and conversation was stilted and polite, but soon she had him laughing over something silly that happened in one of her recitals, and the ice was broken. He was more relaxed and seemed finally to accept their new status as simply good friends. He'd attempted to discover more about her mysterious _Erik_, but she'd refused to say anything else about him. He was curious as to why, and wondered who this man was, but the subject was not brought up again. And seeing how agitated she became when he mentioned it, he'd finally decided to leave it alone. Perhaps when he went home again he could find out something about the man.

And now she came back into the room, and approached him smiling. "How about some tea? It will help warm you."

He took her hand and swung it playfully. "I'd much rather you sit down here and talk with me. I did come clear across town, you know. With the weather so bad, the trolley was jammed, and _very_ uncomfortable." He grinned and ran a hand through his damp hair. "So make it worth my while...come and have dinner with me."

She sat down beside him on the sofa and looked out the window, watching the melting ice sliding like tears down the pane of glass, and she shivered, leaning closer to the fire. Sometimes it felt like she'd never be warm again.

"You really want to go back out in _that_?" She shook her blonde head at him. "You just got here!"

"Not right at this very moment, dear girl. But think about it, will you? I'm getting hungry." He watched her face change and take on a shuttered, closed-in look. And she glanced out the window again, chewing on her bottom lip.

The image of her maestro had appeared to her at the use of that particular endearment...he had called her that often...she felt the dark edge of despair coming over her, and tried mightily to rise above it. She laughed lightly. "You're _always_ hungry, but yes, I'll go to dinner with you." She was smiling at him, but it never reached her eyes, which to Raoul seemed tired and sad. "First...tell me about your week."

"Uh, uh. No ma'am. First, you tell me what's wrong. Something is bothering you, Chris. What?"

She felt the tears starting at his gentle concern, and stubbornly smiled at him instead. "I...it's nothing. Nothing at all. I'm just a little exhausted lately. Must be the weather...I'd love to see some sunshine, wouldn't you?" And she continued chattering at him, and he soon went on to something else.

"Hey! I got a letter from Mother yesterday, and you'll never guess who has a part in that new opera at the St. Joe!"

Christine's heart started to pound, and she was tempted to get up and leave before he said her name, but she didn't. "It's Becky...Becky Drake. She was never as good as you, but Mother said she's not half bad as Gilda. Too bad about that other singer. Julia Something..."

"How _is_ your mother, Raoul? And your brothers and sister?" She was being rude and didn't care, but it got him off of Becky and he began talking about his family. And Christine listened, smiling and nodding in the right places, but letting her thoughts drift back to a little over a week ago. She had known that Becky was the new Gilda, and to say she was shocked, would be an understatement. The fact that no one saw fit to tell her, that she found it out on her own, hurt her more than she would have thought possible.

There had been an article in one of the St. Louis papers about the St. Joseph Opera House, the quality of its productions, and the secrecy of its unknown owner. It mentioned Rigoletto and the debut of newcomer Miss Rebecca Drake in the role of Gilda. But that wasn't nearly the worst of it. She'd received a long letter from Meg over a week ago, informing Christine of something that caught her eye one evening not long before opening night. Meg had been in the yard, when a woman came out the back door of Archer's. Curious, she crept closer, and was surprised to see Becky Drake standing in the light from the kitchen.

Meg in all innocence had written her friend about it, thinking Christine would already have known what she was doing there. And that's what filled her with dread...because she didn't know, and she thought something of that nature would have been mentioned by Erik. He hadn't written her anything but a short note sending his deep regrets, that he couldn't make it to St. Louis after all, but would try and get there as soon as possible. Had said how much he missed her, but he was working on a very large project and it was taking up a lot of his time. Of Becky's role in the opera, or what she was doing in his house, he said absolutely nothing. And it hurt. The conclusion Christine came to was the most obvious one...Becky Drake was the large project taking up his precious time. But how? Why? She had requested her maestro to be patient with her, but apparently, it had been too much to ask, for he'd found a replacement for more than just the role of Gilda. But to have a relationship with someone like Becky Drake, left her feeling weepy every time she thought about it...which was most of the day and much of the night. And that's when she truly started to regret leaving home at all. _Hadn't he implored her to stay?_ And a part of her longed to do just that, but her aunt would never have condoned her decision.

It had occurred to her that Becky would be the last person to become interested in Erik, after showing her distaste for him as often as she had. Possibly using him to get choicer roles? Her thoughts tortured her day and night, and if she could squeeze them out of her mind, she would have done so. Becky's reasons for seeing Erik in his home were suspect, but Christine was numb thinking of why he would so casually move on to someone who harbored nothing but hatred for her. Unbidden and definitely unwelcome, were her words from that day in the opera house which had come back to haunt her now. She asked him if he would be taking on another student, and he scoffed and denied it.

"...and I wondered if you'd be willing to go with me."

"Huh? I'm sorry. What?" She came back to the conversation, and looked at him sheepishly.

"I said...would you like to go with me to the Majestic Theatre some day next week? They're doing Faust."

She looked at his earnest, handsome face, so very different from her maestro's closed secretive mask, with only his eyes to give away his thoughts...his emotions. Well, that wasn't exactly true. His mouth could give away his feelings too, once she'd learned to watch for the signs...his smile which was a mere twitch, but showed his amusement clearly to her. Those lips could also thin to almost nothing when he was angry; she had seen that happen many times when _she_ was the reason for it. And what brought a flush over her entire body, were their last moments together in the clearing. His mouth on hers, coaxing her to kiss him back...which she did, and it had been frightening and exhilarating.

She thought of that long ago summer day, summoning up the stifling heat of an August afternoon. Standing in the middle of the dusty road with a blonde haired boy for whom she'd felt the first stirrings of youthful love. How simple it would have been to follow through with those tender feelings, for Raoul de Chagny truly was a man worthy of any woman's love. And her life with him would have been a fine one.

But that was ruined for her on the stormy night a stranger arrived next door, and catapulted her into something entirely different, for her maestro was a much more complex man than sweet Raoul, and without ever seeing his face, she knew he was deeply scarred...body _and_ soul. A life with him would be many things...full of a dark passion, a need for complete possession, and a steady enduring patience to understand the tortured man she had come to adore. Thinking hard, her fingers went to the locket _he_ gave her for her birthday, and which she always wore without fail.

"Christine? What _are_ you thinking about? What do you say to Faust?"

"No!" It burst from her so loudly, the other couple across the room, glanced up in surprise. "I-I mean...I'm sorry, Raoul, but I can't." And right then and there, she decided. "I'm going home for a visit."

_ XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She was let in by a stressed Mrs. Cole, and it had been easy to get the housekeeper to let her make her own way upstairs. She simply told her that Erik wished to see her about tomorrow night's performance. There were no more lessons since the opera began...she hadn't seen him at all for that matter. In the three weeks leading up to opening night, she tried in every way to get that masked devil to warm up to her, and nothing worked. His attitude toward her hadn't softened in the least, even after a fine debut as Gilda; she saw nothing of him, and had no idea how he viewed her performance. But one thing she did discover. Julia was returning, and that meant she would be relegated back to the chorus once more.

Her parents and brother were there for her debut the night Rigoletto opened. Of Erik, there was no sign, but once the music began, she forgot all about that temperamental man, and concentrated on being the talk of the town. She would be _much_ better than Christine Daae! There were many curtain calls and the applause grew louder when she appeared again onstage. If she could get the masked man to really take notice of her, she could be the prima donna as her parents always contended. She had quite a few admirers backstage, and kept her family waiting for over an hour as she chatted and laughed with some of the gentlemen.

And now after a two week run, it was nearly over, and there had been no public outcry for her to continue as part of the company. In fact, newspapers were still focused on Daae's role as Barbarina, and speculated as to when she could possibly return to the stage. Which made her plan to entice the masked devil into a relationship, imperative.

She began her campaign to win him over, by arriving ten minutes earlier one evening, expecting to be taken to him immediately. She had been hoping to speak with Erik and perhaps draw him out a little, and showcase some of her substantial charms. But instead she'd been led into the parlor by Mrs. Cole, and made to sit and wait until seven, when she was taken to the tower room. Directly after the three of them had arrived, Erik strode in, again in work clothes, and sat down at the piano. Not a word had been spoken in the room, other than curt directives as to how a measure should be sung, or the few times he'd snapped at her over pronunciation, impatient to be gone.

The very next evening, she'd worn a new garnet taffeta skirt and white blouse with puff sleeves, dabbing herself liberally with Attar of Roses. Becky leaned in toward him, pretending to pick up her handkerchief, which she'd intentionally dropped close to the bench. As she straightened up, she put a hand on his shoulder to balance herself, and was dismayed when he flinched away and rounded on her in anger.

"Return to your former position, if you please. I don't have time for this," but she had caught a flutter of something in those yellow eyes when she removed her hand from his bony shoulder. So just to test the waters, she brushed her fingers lightly across his arm, and this time, he was noticeably slower to move away. And it might have been her imagination, but he was a little less truculent it seemed. But after Rigoletto's successful opening night, she hadn't seen him at all, and with the lack of enthusiasm from the public about her continuing on with larger roles, she was becoming a little desperate.

And that's why she decided to show up tonight, and make one last bid, only this time, it was all or nothing. And she was, even for her, a little nervous about what could happen. But even if it all went awry, she had one more swan song in mind.

She thought of the small treasure that was tucked away at home in her jewelry box, and smiled, thinking how she'd come across it. Mrs. Cole informed her one evening, a few days before opening night, that the house had been turned upside down all day, looking for Erik's cravat pin. She'd also told Becky the significance of it...a gift from Christine, which explained why she'd seen him wearing no other, and why the masked devil was beside himself without it. _How sweet._ That lesson had been more difficult than usual with him, and she could see the frustration shining from his eyes at the loss of the pin. She smiled seeing it. Then the day before Rigoletto and her debut, she had excused herself from the three in the tower and made for the water closet on the second floor.

She spotted the black cat playing with a shiny object, batting it around as cats will do, and curious, she walked toward it, bending low with one hand held out. "Here kitty, kitty." she crooned in her sweetest tone. "Nice kitty." He looked up at her and backed away with a hiss, then lunged for the pin, latching his tiny jaws around it and disappeared through the partially open door behind him.

"Oh no you don't, you mangy little beast!' she cried, and followed him through the door. There was only a glimmer of light in the bedchamber, and that only from the hallway, but she hurriedly closed the door after spying a window. Cautiously she crossed the room, her hands in front of her in case she bumped into something along the way. She realized she only had a few more minutes to spare before someone came looking for her.

She made it to the window, and pushed the heavy draperies aside, to reveal a room completely achromatic in color. It took her breath away...the bizarreness at the total lack of any other color except black and gray. She shivered, desiring nothing more than to leave this room that reminded her of death. For there were strange and twisted landscape paintings hanging on the walls, filled with stunted trees contorted into painful shapes, and glowing yellow eyes peering from bushes the color of blood. Beside the large bed swathed in ebony, and sitting on the nightstand, was a foot high sculpture of a man, painfully thin, and draped in chains from his head to his feet. The face appeared disfigured by pure agony, and one long-fingered hand was held out in supplication to the willowy form of a young woman in a flowing robe, one slim hand reaching out to grasp his. She had her suspicions as to the identity of the pair, but was unsure of the sculptor, but it was amazing in its detail. She'd pulled her curious gaze away and started looking for the cat, when she heard a soft noise on the opposite side of the room. There in the corner was the dirty creature, nearly invisible in the shadowy room, the cravat pin a dim glitter at his feet.

She turned and grabbed a bolster from the funereal bed, and threw it as hard as she could at him. Growling, he darted from the corner and ran under the bed, leaving Becky to go over and grab the pin. She put the bolster back exactly where she'd found it, and crossed over to the window, closing the drapes, and as quietly as possible, exited the room. As soon as she opened the door, the cat darted out and disappeared down the hall.

She was starting back to the third floor stairs, when she heard the heavy tread of feet coming down the steps, and lifting her skirt, quickly slid the pin through one of her petticoats. She straightened up, hoping it was securely fastened and began walking again, meeting a perturbed Mrs. Cole at the foot of the stairs.

"For pity's sake, child! We thought you left for home! You best hurry up...he's never been a patient man, and even less so now. Come along."

He _was_ in a temper when she went back upstairs, and he railed at her as she made her way back into the room. She stood in the curve of the piano, head down in false contrition, grinning to herself. What a piece of junk to get upset over, she thought. Why, they'd bought better gifts for that lazy maid of theirs! All this wealth surrounding him, he should be wearing solid gold cravat pins, not cheap jewelry bought by a little hoyden like Christine. But she felt its discovery was well worth his anger. She was fairly certain that a lot of his temper was for its loss, and just as certain that once she left for the evening, the three of them would begin the search once more. And find nothing.

And now she was here for something other than a lesson, and Mrs. Cole said he was working hard at the end of the hall on the third floor. She'd heard the hammering before she made it to the top step, and followed the sounds of construction to a pair of wide wooden doors with beautiful peacock inserts, the hues of their spread tails like so many bright jewels.

Cautiously, she peered around one of the open doors and was startled at the beauty before her. In the very center of the main room, was a tiered fountain; at the moment it was dry, but it would be spectacular once it was flowing, along with the soothing sound of the splashing water. She put a hand to her mouth as she gazed around at the many windows all around, and the cunning archways, carved into realistic vines and dainty leaves. She surveyed it all...it was still a work in progress, but she knew one thing for certain. She wanted this for herself. All of it.

Taking a deep breath, she followed the sound of tapping through the left arch, and saw him kneeling on the floor, carving on a wooden bench in front of him. More of the pretty leaves and vines. She could envision settees for lounging on, scattered around the inter-connecting rooms, and plants would be in abundance to create little nooks to hide away inside. For he was creating with those clever hands, a solarium...she had seen one like it when they'd visited her aunt and uncle in New York. But this! She moved toward him slowly as if approaching a wild animal...and in a way, she was doing exactly that.

"Stop right there." He said it quietly and without turning around, but he carefully put his tools on the floor, and bracing his hands on his thighs, he stood up. "What do you want?"

She was surprised at his tone. He was calm when he should have been shouting at her for trespassing. Slowly she moved forward, taking his attitude as one of acceptance at her presence in this fantastical room of windows that made her feel as if she were outside, but magically unaffected by mere weather. She could see the stars from any angle and the clouds racing across the moon...the silhouettes of the trees, and the lights in the far-flung houses, winking like so many fireflies in the dark.

Finally, she was able to speak. "These rooms are absolutely beautiful! Did you do all of this yourself?"

He turned around then and put his hands on narrow hips, shaking his head. "No. No. No." he said with false patience. "Never answer a question _with_ a question. Bad form. Now then...what do you _want_?"

She silently cursed him and his adder's tongue. "I wanted to know what you thought of my performance."

There was cold amusement in his voice. "You're concerned _now_ with my opinion, after all this time?" He wagged his head at her. "I think someone in this room heard the nasty rumor about Miss Bardot's return." he said, in a playful, sing-song, which sounded odd and all wrong to Becky. Then he answered her question. "It was...adequate. I ask you once more. What do you want?" and his eyes appeared to her, tired and dull.

She braced herself and raised determined eyes to his. "You."

She was delighted to see his visible reaction of surprise.

But she wasn't quite there yet, for he started to laugh, and she wished to cover her ears at the awful sound of it. His mirth surrounded her, and seemed to bounce off the very windows, creating the notion that many voices were present in that room, and all raised in hysterical glee. But it was devoid of humor, and she started to feel the stirrings of true fear.

She was in the presence of a madman, as the wild laughter rang and echoed in the nearly empty room. Finally, it sputtered to a halt, and catching his breath, he abruptly stopped, cocking his head at her, nearly bird-like in its movement.

"You want _me_? _Miss_ Becky Drake wants...wait, let me see...let me see" and he tapped one index finger against his thin lip, then poked it in the air. "Ah yes! Is this familiar to you?" 'Oh, I know! You're waiting for that hideous patron of yours, aren't you? How desperate you must be, Christine, to allow that creature anywhere near you.'

Becky's jaw had dropped open when she heard her very own voice saying those words, but issuing from the thin-lipped masked devil. He was uncanny, and if she had lived in the middle ages, she would quite possibly be making the sign to ward off evil.

She wasn't sure _which_ time he was referring to, or where he'd been, to listen in on that particular conversation, but she struggled for an explanation.

"B-But that was before I got to know you, and...and admire you as much as I do." She played to his male ego, which she considered to be formidable...all men had that in abundance, and she was quite certain the ugly ones were no different. She made sure to flutter her eyelashes, and pushed tightly laced breasts outward as if inviting his hands to fondle them.

His gaze had momentarily dropped to her chest, and if she could have, she would have squealed in delight at the way things were going. No man could resist what she was offering, especially this hideous creature in front of her now.

"I think you're a little lonely after...well, after...s-she..." Becky sputtered to a halt when he raised his head from his contemplation of her breasts, and stared venomously at her.

"You...admire this now, do you?" and his hand touched delicately on the silky cheek of the mask, a noticeable smile playing with one corner of his mouth.

She felt victory to be near, and prepared herself to touch the strange man in front of her. But, she thought in a burst of optimism...look what she would achieve in return! Money, these beautiful rooms, _and_ she wanted her own horse and buggy just like Christine's, but much nicer...a barouche maybe...and not one, but two matching horses. The opera house would be her playground and people, especially the gentlemen would love her...she would be the reigning diva! The _only_ diva...

And all she had to do was bed a monster.

"Yes...I do." She almost giggled. It sounded like a wedding vow.

His eyes seemed to flare and spark, as he walked slowly toward her, his masked face raised as if sniffing out the rose oil she'd once again applied liberally to her skin. Then he was going around her, appraising as he went. So tall. So very tall. She swallowed nervously and briefly closed her eyes, willing herself to stay still. Stalked. She was being stalked.

He stopped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders, and she willed herself to remain in place. "You would give yourself to me? Here? Now?" he whispered.

She only hesitated a moment. "Yes."

The light was swallowed from above as he leaned down, coming ever closer to her lips, his cold hands clutching her tighter, and Becky knew she had won.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N Thank you everyone for the reviews, f****avorites and follows! ****It's very much appreciated!**

**Kennedian-thanks for the heads up on muirin007's artwork-yes...that's more or less how I picture Erik in this fic.**

**Warning****...sexual situations dead ahead.**

Her moans were driving him mad, and he took her mouth in another kiss, their tongues meeting and thrusting against each other, much the same as he was thrusting inside of _her_. She clutched at his back, moving eagerly beneath him, when she suddenly tensed and cried out, as the waves of pleasure rolled through her, leaving her gasping. He felt his own release coming, and rode her faster...and faster still, as his climax came hard on the heels of hers.

Sated, he rolled off of her. He had known it would be good. And it was. He leaned over and kissed Hannah gently. "Thank you."

She reached up and cupped his weathered cheek. "Mm...thank _you_, Mr. Khan. That was wonderful." she whispered, feeling drowsy and replete after the years of denial.

He grinned in the darkness.

They were in Nadir's small apartment above the carriage house that night. It was a cold evening with a freezing rain starting to fall, but they were warm and comfortable lying close together.

He brought her work-worn hand up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "And what time will you be leaving me?"

Reluctantly, Hannah sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Unfortunately, right now. Edna will be home in about a half hour, and Meg not long after that. The missus is at a Friends of the Opera meeting, and Meg is visiting Sarah and the children." She got up and started collecting her clothes, suddenly shy, but never regretting what they'd done.

Nadir found it amusing that Christine's aunt was busy collecting money for the very man she was now trying to keep away from her niece.

Hannah watched the play of emotion across his dark face. She had been attracted to him almost from the beginning, when he'd introduced himself the day he'd helped her with the spooked mare. They had talked often, as neighbors were wont to do, each in their respective yards, with the invisible border of the properties between them, then they had continued to meet, seated on the bench under the grape arbor. It had started out innocently enough...two lonely people finding some common ground...and a spark, which over time had flared into something stronger. What had happened tonight was a natural progression to their relationship, which they both had welcomed.

Nadir got to his feet and drew his trousers on, and grabbing his other clothes, he padded into the small kitchen. "You may have the bedroom to yourself, Hannah."

"How has Erik been getting along?" she asked him, as she hurriedly dressed in her underclothes, leaving her corset off for now. "I know he's had his hands full with that Drake girl. Meg said that Christine seemed a little down in her last letter. She didn't know anything about Becky coming here for lessons." She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, her forehead wrinkled in a frown. "Honestly, why didn't he just tell her _why_ he couldn't go to her?"

He shook his head wearily and sighed. "I told him the very same thing, but the man is much too stubborn for his own good. He wants to surprise her with the solarium and has sworn us to secrecy, but Miss Drake's voice lessons and role..." He turned around in a tight circle looking for his sock and spied it on the floor. "Well, I think it's shame he's feeling right now. He was willing to put a lesser soprano in the role because of Christine's feud with the Drake girl, but we _did_ succeed in talking some sense into him. I think the guilt has been working on him ever since. He sees it as a betrayal of her, and so he says nothing."

He hopped around on one foot, pulling on the other sock, while Hannah watched him in amusement. "He finally agreed with us about the role of Gilda for one reason only." He straightened and looked at her. "He realized that to let the productions slide into mediocrity, would be a set-back to the opera house, and he won't allow that to happen. He's saving the theatre for _her_. Christine will be the diva when she returns, and he will give her a stage of merit, where she will be a shining star."

"He told you this?"

"He most certainly did." He grabbed his shoe and began tugging it on, but he stopped and looked at her. "Those were _his_ words. _Everything_ he does is for her, Hannah."

"But...she knows Becky has been over here for lessons, and about her part in the opera. Surely he should have said _something_ to her by now? Doesn't he realize the consequences of his silence?"

"I agree with you, dear lady. But Erik is not at all familiar with the nuances of a young woman's mind," he leaned against the wall and pulled on his other shoe, "well..._any _woman's mind, for that matter, and doesn't realize the trap he may be setting for himself. But I stopped trying to reason with him quite a while ago."

"Does he ever stop, Nadir? How is he? I know he took Christine's leaving pretty hard."

He straightened up, and looked at Hannah with affection. "As well as can be expected under the circumstances, I suppose. He's surprising me yet again with his restraint...where _she's_ concerned anyway; he let her go, and I know how badly that affected him, and to make matters worse, he lost that pin Christine gave him, and made us look everywhere for it...he no doubt will again, I'm sure."

She left her dress unbuttoned as well, hoping against hope that Edna and her daughter wouldn't pop home early and see the bedraggled state she was in.

"What do you think happened to it?"

"I'm not sure, but he became very upset at its disappearance. He treasured it so." He ran a hand through his mussed hair, then reached for his vest. "He's become obsessed with that solarium. He works on it night and day; he wants to surprise her with it the next time she comes home, but he's reached the end of his patience, I think. And he never had a lot of it to begin with. He's leaving for St. Louis on Friday, trusting myself and Samuel to keep things running for a few days. He said he'll go mad if he doesn't see her soon." He snorted derisively. "_Go_ mad? I think he's already there myself. He's been driving Mrs. Cole, _and_ I might add, myself, to distraction looking for that damned pin...excuse me, Hannah."

He moved over to the door and opened it, glancing outside. "What a miserable evening," then looked over his shoulder and smiled at her, "but quite nice all the same." He looked up at the mellow light of the new solarium windows and snorted. "And there he is, Hannah. As usual...him and his one-track mind. He'll work there for most of the night, then stop a while and look for that pin." He shook his head. "I'll be thankful when he is able to actually _see_ the reason for all of this frantic activity."

She swept her hair up onto her head and pinned it in place. "Poor Erik. Maybe this time he'll get to leave." She put a hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. "Don't be too hard on him, Nadir. That was more than just a pin. It's his link to Christine. But she is just as bad with that necklace _he_ gave her." She laughed...light and girlish; a sound that Nadir wished to hear more often. "She thinks I don't know, but I've..."

Her words were cut short, when Nadir put up a hand, and she was startled to hear a high pitched scream...faint, but still there. "Did you hear that?" she found herself whispering in a hushed voice.

He finished buttoning his vest, then grabbed his coat. "Yes, I did. Are you ready, Hannah? I'm afraid I must leave you. It came from the house."

He parted from her with a swift kiss, and took off at a run for the back door, going through the kitchen, and nearly colliding with Becky Drake in the front hallway at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Cole, in her nightclothes was standing beside her, white faced and shaking.

"Mr. Nadir! Thank Goodness you're here! She screamed loud enough to raise the dead, she did." She glanced up the stairs nervously. "I don't know what's happened..._he's_ still up there somewhere, and I found her running down the stairs from the third floor, looking like this," and she indicated Becky's disheveled appearance.

Nadir glanced at Becky one more time, then turned to the housekeeper, saying quietly, "Would you be so good as to fix her a cup of tea, Mrs. Cole?"

But the young woman was moving erratically toward the front door, her breathing a harsh whine. The Persian grabbed her by the arm, and she cried out in fear. "No! I'll tell no one...I-I p-promise!"

"What is _wrong _with you? And why are you here?" He was perplexed and slightly alarmed at her pasty complexion, and the fearful glances she kept giving over her shoulder.

"He's crazy! He should be in an asylum! Do you know that?" Her hair was falling from its pins, and she hastily pushed it away, looking briefly at him. "Yes, I suppose you do, and that makes you just as crazy as him." She was babbling and kept sneaking peeks behind her at the stairs. "I have to go home now. Please! I want to go home. I'll say nothing...I already told _him_ that...I p-promise!" Her face was sticky with tears, and the Persian tried to get her to talk to him, but she refused to say more, and fled from the house into the freezing night. She was glad to be gone, and away from the lunatic that resided there.

She'd expected a kiss when he had leaned down to her, certain that she had won this creature and all of his wealth. Instead he had whispered filth into her ear.

"You think my salvation is rutting between _your_ legs, do you?" She had instantly pulled back from him, stunned at his words, but he held onto her shoulders, his fingers biting relentlessly into her flesh, yanking her toward him. She bit back a cry of pain and began to struggle against his whipcord strength. But all for naught.

"_You_ have nothing I want!" he ground out between clenched teeth. "My hope and happiness lie elsewhere." His hold tightened on her, forcing a groan from her mouth. "Not with a lying, conniving bitch such as yourself."

He gave her a shove, and she landed hard on the floor, and frantically she climbed unsteadily to her feet as he approached her again. She backed up slowly, never taking her eyes off of him.

"You are going back to the chorus, Becky Drake. That is my gift to _you_. You will not be the diva again anytime soon." He stopped in front of her, eying her with an uneasy mixture of distaste, and some other emotion swimming in those yellow eyes, making her shudder. "I still insist that you keep quiet as to my identity. I won't ask for your word...I'm quite sure it's no good."

He reached into his pocket and produced a shining metal object...he pushed a tiny button on the side, and a gleaming, four inch, razor sharp blade appeared instantly. Becky opened her mouth wide and screamed in terror, the sound of it bouncing and echoing in the large empty space. Her eyes bulged in fear at the wickedly sharp knife he held, certain he'd changed his mind and was intent on killing her.

Erik laughed, looking at her in admiration. "You see? I told you several times before, the need for opening your mouth wide when you sing. No trouble at all with _those_ high notes." He had spoken in a light friendly voice, but suddenly his gaze flattened, and became one of deadly intent. "My _offer_ still stands. Speak of me to _anyone_, and you will be parted from your tongue. Ever hear someone try to converse without that most particular organ? No?" He shook his head in mock sadness and sighed. "Mere gibberish, and quite unintelligible. I assure you, speaking, let alone singing will be out of the question." He smirked evilly at her. "Croaking will be all of which you are capable." He gestured with the knife toward the doors into the hallway. "Get out."

And she stumbled from the room, glad to be away from the creature.

By the time she arrived home, she was over much of her fright, but wondering exactly where she'd gone wrong. No one was in sight as she made her way up to her room and slammed her door shut. She had been so sure she could manipulate him, thinking him needy and love-lorn, and instead he'd anticipated her intentions and turned the tables on her. How she despised that unholy disciple of Satan! Going back in the chorus was out of the question...at least in St. Joe. Maybe a move to New York was in her near future. There was always the Met, and she could stay with her aunt and uncle for a while. But she wasn't through with that masked devil just yet.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Nadir had sent a disturbed Mrs. Cole back to bed...her mutterings about the sanity of her employer did not bode well for her continuing as housekeeper at Archer House. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, wondering what condition Erik would be in...Becky's certainly hadn't been very good. He heard the tapping from halfway down the hall, and when he arrived through the second arch of the solarium, he was surprised to find the masked man hard at work on the bench once more as if nothing had upset his evening. Which was typical of him.

The Persian was well aware of the many talents of his friend, but the solarium was his masterpiece. It was a work of art dedicated to a woman, whom Nadir doubted would ever live in the place. He approached Erik cautiously, wondering how to start this conversation without making him angry all over again.

"Erik..." he began.

"Let me guess, daroga. You have just spoken with the always inconsistent, Miss Becky Drake, no?" He didn't turn around, but continued working tirelessly on Christine's bench. "And she was probably a little upset?"

Nadir felt anger and passivity warring with each other. Being Erik's _keeper_ all these years had been a full-time job, and he was finally running out of energy _and_ patience. But he answered him calmly enough.

"She was more than just a little _upset_, Erik. What did you do to her? She looked as though she'd been roughed up...or worse." he said finally. "Did you?"

The masked man sighed, and carefully laying his tools down; he dusted off his hands, and stood up. He turned around and faced his friend. "It's what _she_ did to me, daroga, and you will not believe it when I tell you."

Even he had a difficult time believing it. Oh, he knew it had nothing to do with love or desire...far from it. When he looked in Becky Drake's eyes, he saw nothing but greed and avarice there, with fear and loathing following close behind. But for all that, when she had struggled with him, he'd unfortunately been reminded of how starved he was for what other men took for granted. It had not been love or any type of tender emotion present tonight; it was simply a man long denied natural feelings and desires...a knee-jerk reaction to holding a soft, feminine form and no more than that. He snorted. It didn't have anything to do with a damned knee, and doggedly, he'd fought it down, hating himself for his momentary weakness.

The Persian stared at him impatiently. "What could she possibly do to you?" He well knew how Erik enjoyed spinning a story out, and building suspense. Nadir had always considered him to be a latent showman. But what he said next, startled him in spite of that knowledge.

"She propositioned me." He nodded his head, seeing disbelief in his friend's eyes, and he threw a hand out to the room in general. "Here. I could have had her right in this room. She would have let me touch her breasts, and take her on the floor, if it was my wish. My wish!" His laughter was harsh. "All for a price of course, which I would gladly have paid not so very long ago." The look he gave the Persian held a touch of regret. "But I've already betrayed Christine just by using that little slut's voice...how much worse to also use her body."

He went over to the window and watched the icy rain drifting in runnels down the panes in no discernible pattern. Much like he had once been. Always on the move...searching...always looking for something..._someone_, to give his life meaning...purpose. And he'd found her at last...his Christine, but only after he'd given up the quest.

He turned to the Persian. "During one of that harpy's lessons not so very long ago; probably when she decided to pursue my money, she approached me at the piano, and put a hand on my shoulder. She startled me, but that wasn't all; I could smell her scent. And it reminded me instantly of Christine. Roses. It was the fragrance I noticed that first night she crept into the tower room. My little hoyden!" he said affectionately.

He turned back to the window. "How I missed her then! It was an actual ache...just under the breastbone. You have no conception of what it feels like to find oneself in the company of a woman after a lifetime of isolation. I had become so used to Christine coming for her lessons everyday, giving me so much to anticipate, that when she left I..."

He shrugged. "It was very hard. When Becky touched me, it wasn't her in that room...it was Christine."

He turned to the Persian. "I was...for just a fleeting moment...tempted. I could have pretended it was my Christine. Only a moment...make no mistake about that. It would have meant absolutely nothing to me in the end...she would have been merely a vessel to empty myself in, and easily thrown away afterward, just like a rusty pot of little use anymore. But I who have never been offered love of _any_ kind was flattered for an inestimable moment."

He fisted his hands and stared at them. "How could I have looked my girl in the eyes if I had?" he said very softly. "I am well familiar with betrayal, and it numbs the soul. I would _never_ do that to her, daroga. Never."

Nadir watched his interior struggle, trying to come to grips with the two halves of his complex personality, but as the Persian had always known...there was much that was good and honorable in his friend. Tonight had proved it, for his iron control had subjugated his base nature. Many so-called _normal_ men couldn't say the same about themselves, but this one standing before him had risen above that. He snorted. And many called Erik the monster.

"What now? She's a danger to you, in more ways than one, you know. Women don't like being scorned, even when love is absent."

"I have offered to keep her in the company, but only the chorus. She may take it or leave it. Any more trouble with her, and my generosity is at an end."

The masked man made a sound of disgust. "She would gladly have sent me to the devil if she could have kept my money...she despises me. There's fear there as well, but..." He thought of that strange look in the young woman's eyes that he'd caught from time to time during her voice lessons. "She has a fire inside of her, but it's not the flames of creation. It's a wildness...a need that can never be quenched no matter what is done to try and appease it." He regarded his friend for a moment. "It's a vital part that's missing, but she has no idea what that is."

"And you do?"

Erik nodded. "Of course. Because it's something I have also lacked...the only difference is, I was cruelly denied it after my birth, but she...well, she was born that way..." He squatted down and gathered his tools together, while Nadir watched him in exasperation.

"You really are dragging this out, aren't you? All right," he sighed, "what is this thing you've both been denied?"

His friend glanced his way before he headed for the door. "Why, daroga...with your vast intellect, I thought you already knew." He turned back one last time. "Humanity."

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

The next afternoon, the Persian made his way again to the third floor, but today his step was much lighter; he had good news for Erik...news that would be most welcome to his friend. He found him working on the bench once more in the solarium, painstakingly carving the tiny leaves and vines; so realistic were they, that with color, they would appear to be alive. It was good that his friend had an outlet for his creativity, especially after the night before. He wondered briefly if Christine would ever understand the depth of Erik's love for her.

"Daroga! Look at this thing and tell me she will love it! I intend to paint it white and it will have blue cushions for us to sit on and view the fountain together." He ran skeletal fingers over a newly carved leaf; he'd heard the Persian enter the room, and he turned to him, his large hands speckled with tiny wood chips.

He paused when he saw Nadir's smiling face. "What? Did Madame Jules invite you to dinner this evening? Maybe she baked a custard pie for you, eh?" He stood up and grabbed a rag from the small nest of carpenter's tools on the floor, and started to carefully wipe the bench free of dust.

"Christine will be home tomorrow afternoon, Erik. Hannah just told me the news...they received a telegram from her. It will be a short visit only, but I know how...happy this will make you."

Erik had gone still at Nadir's words, the rag falling unheeded from his suddenly nerveless fingers. "She's coming home?" he whispered, as he turned and looked at his friend with eyes suddenly full of fire. "Happy? _That_ is such an unsuitable word for what I am feeling at this moment. _Happy_ doesn't begin to describe it!" He started walking swiftly around the room doing a rapid inventory. "Do you understand what this means? I only have a short amount of time to prepare these rooms! It will be far from finished, but I _must_ get the fountain working, and...and the bench completed for us. I can gather all the plants from the house and use them until I have time to get others. I want it beautiful. This is hers, you know!"

"Yes, I know, my friend." Nadir said quietly.

He turned to the Persian, his eyes alive with a look he'd rarely seen in Erik. Joy. And he felt a tiny surge of alarm. His friend was building a mountain of expectations from this visit, and Nadir could only hope that it wouldn't come tumbling down and crush him beneath its dead weight.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Hannah clucked to the mare and glanced over at the younger women, chatting away beside her. They'd had a tearful reunion at the station, even though Christine hadn't been gone from home all that long. In fact, both her and Edna had questioned this quick trip home. And now, looking at her daughter and Christine with their heads close together and laughing, she wondered exactly what problem the girl was wrestling with. Missing a certain masked man perhaps?

But the housekeeper frowned. Christine had asked about everyone _except_ for Erik...or the opera house for that matter. And glancing at her face, she noticed dark smudges under the girl's eyes, and a mouth which seemed to take longer to smile.

"Have you been eating regular, child? You look thinner. Are you feeling all right?"

Both young women stopped their chatter and eyed the older woman suspiciously. They'd heard that tone from Hannah for years, and it usually meant she was going to pour several different foul tasting elixirs down their throats.

"I feel fine, Hannah, really. Just very busy, that's all."

Christine gazed at the scenery passing them by...what there was of it, for everything was still brown and in a state of dormancy awaiting the warmer days of spring, which was still a little over a month away. They had turned down Broad St. and she felt an unsettling mixture of longing and tension.

"How is Raoul doing? Meg asked casually. "Fine I hope?"

"He's very well. Busy with his own school work...I see him perhaps once a week, but it's nice having him nearby."

Meg nodded, feeling somewhat relieved that they'd actually spent such little time in each other's company.

"Are any of your teacher's at school as strict as Erik was with you, Christine?" Meg's question was entirely innocent, but it made her a little uncomfortable. She twisted her gloved hands in her lap, willing herself to relax, and failing.

"Ah...no, Meg. But I don't think anyone is as intense as...as he is."

"There's been an awful lot of construction going on over at his house. Did he tell you what he's been doing over there? You should see all the..." Meg's hand flew to her mouth...her mother had requested that she not mention the work going on next door, but in the excitement of having her friend home, she'd forgotten.

But her mother had cut her off, earning a resentful look from her. "Figaro has been cooling his heels since you went away. I think Erik has ridden him a couple of times just so he doesn't get too lazy." She had promised Nadir not to say anything about the solarium Erik was building, but she couldn't do much if someone else mentioned it, or the very likely chance that Christine would see all the windows. After all, there appeared to be a green house on the third floor...hard to miss that, she thought dryly. To be sure, it was tucked away toward the back of the house, but if she looked too close she would see it.

Christine shook her head and stared up the street, almost expecting to see a tall dark figure standing there. "Ah, no. I don't have any idea what he's doing over there. Absolutely none." she said vaguely, not even aware of the annoyed glances between mother and daughter.

Hannah looked sharply at the young woman and her obvious discomfort at the mention of Erik. _That's it, is it? This all has something to do with him. And not anything good from the look of her down-cast eyes. Surely now, Erik will explain things to her. And maybe Christine would feel better after learning the Drake girl has been taken down a peg._ Nadir had informed her that the scream they'd heard from the house the other night had been Becky receiving the unwelcome news that she would be returning to the chorus. _Very_ _melodramatic_,_ that girl! She had screamed as if the devil was pursuing her soul! _She stopped the buggy in front of the house, and waited as Christine got out.

"Go in and say hello to your aunt. We'll take care of Nellie."

She grabbed her portmanteau and walked in the front door, only glancing once at Archer's...her eyes moving quickly over the tower. Her aunt was in the dining room seated at her desk going over household accounts. She stood up in delight at seeing her niece after the two and a half months of her absence. To Edna she appeared sophisticated and mature, albeit thinner.

"Aren't they feeding you at that school, Christine? We certainly pay enough room and board for three good meals a day!"

The younger woman laughed. "You sound just like Hannah! Well of course they feed me enough, Auntie! I must walk it off just getting around that pile of bricks day to day."

They retired to the parlor and got caught up with each other's lives again, exchanging small talk, until Edna looked at her watch. "Dear me! I've a Ladie's Aid meeting tonight. An important one too, or I would have cancelled to spend the time with you." She got to her feet and was halfway out of the room, when she thought of something and turned back.

"That Becky Drake took over Julia Bardot's role in Rigoletto, you know. I was quite shocked. Martha Drake is her usual obnoxious self, telling everyone that her daughter will be the next diva. Remind me to tell you the latest tomorrow morning." She swept from the room like a minature whirlwind and Christine got to her feet to take her bag upstairs to her room, when the knocker sounded at the front door.

"I've got it, Hannah!" she yelled. She smoothed her hair and glanced in the hall mirror, seeing her pale cheeks. She quickly pinched some color into them, then pulled open the door. And backed up in surprise at the sight of Becky Drake standing before her, looking calm and unruffled in her brown velvet coat and hat. For a moment Christine couldn't move, and simply stared at her nemesis, wanting nothing more than to slam the door in that smirking face.

"Welcome home, Christine," and she smiled sweetly. "Well, may I come in? It _is_ cold out here, you know."

She held the door a little wider and stood aside. "Yes, of course." Her lips felt stiff and unnatural. Becky had been the very last face she'd expected to see.

She took her coat, and hung it on the oak hall tree, then led her into the parlor and showed her to a chair. The other girl's dress was fawn velvet and fit her curves nicely...she looked exquisite, and made Christine feel dowdy by comparison after traveling all day. In polite society, an offer of refreshment would have been expected next, but Christine was feeling far from polite at the moment, so she got right to the point. And the claws were out.

"What do you want?" She looked at her in puzzlement. "And how did you know I was coming home?"

The other girl laughed, and playfully shook a finger at her. "My, my, so abrupt, Christine! Mother ran into your aunt in town yesterday...she told her about your visit home." She gave a small toss to her head. "Is _this_ the way they conduct social visits in St. Louis?"

Christine snorted rudely. "This is hardly a social visit, Becky. You and I both know that."

She said nothing more, but continued to stare stonily at Becky, until the other woman leaned forward. "All right, all right. I understand...stop with the niceties. Very well...to the point then." She looked the other woman in the eye, and Christine's disquiet at Becky's presence in her home grew stronger.

"You're probably aware by now, that I've taken on Julia's place at the opera house. The maestro says I'm ready for much larger roles now. But of course I think he's a little prejudiced. Did you know Erik has been," she slid her tongue out and moistened pink lips, "teaching me, Christine?"

"Indeed? He never mentioned it." Her eyes felt hollow and dry, and her hands were starting to sweat. She felt something awful about to be unleashed in the room, and was powerless to stop it. Whoever had said words could do no harm, had been utterly wrong, for these were going to hurt terribly.

"Well, maybe he just didn't _want_ you to know, since he was your teacher as well." Her fingers tapped the arm of the chair in an annoying staccato. "There's probably a lot more he doesn't want you knowing so soon after coming home, but...well, you should realize that he and I are...he's been teaching me next door, Christine _and_ at the opera house. Sometimes very late at night..." She watched the other woman closely, "well, one thing led to another and um...we got carried away one evening, right into each other's arms." She smiled and ducked her head, looking slyly up at Christine through her lashes. "How can I put this delicately? Um...well, he...he had his way with me." she said in a rush. "There! I've said it, and it wasn't so bad now, was it? You have Raoul in St. Louis...why shouldn't _he_ have someone too? He said you couldn't _wait_ to get away from him. Is that true?"

Christine merely stared dumbly at Becky, still not believing her. _Afraid to believe her._ But for all that she wanted to deny it, she felt a sharp ache in her chest at the very thought of _her_ maestro in the arms of this shrill, spiteful virago. But stubbornly, she lifted her chin. "Why don't I trust you, Becky? Let's see...maybe because _lying_ is second nature with you?"

"Oh, I know it hurts. I can just imagine how much, and I see it in your eyes. You were once close to him. I'm sorry for it, but neither one of us planned for this to happen. He's quite a...a man. But you already knew that, didn't you?" Becky looked at her with feigned pity in her blue eyes. "Still don't believe me, do you?" she said, as Christine continued watching her with a hard, burning look.

She sighed deeply, and fished around in her little velvet draw-string bag. She held her fist out, opening her fingers, and there resting on her palm, was the cravat pin Christine had given to Erik. She stared at it, the sapphire winking up at her innocently in the weak afternoon sunlight coming through the windows. Desperately she willed it to turn into anything else but that, as her eyes watered making it difficult to see. She felt numb looking back up at Becky.

"Where did you get that?" she croaked, hating the very sound of her weak, frightened voice.

"Here," she said gently. "Take it back...I have no use for it." Becky handed it to her, and Christine gazed hopelessly at it, fighting back the image of her teacher when she'd first given it to him...how he'd worn it everyday without fail. She had felt such tenderness for his obvious joy at her gift. Becky could not possibly have got it through deception..._he _wouldn't have allowed it, unless...unless he no longer wanted it. She closed her shaking fingers over it, feeling as if the traitorous object was branding her palm.

"I...took it from him the night he made me his, and he told me to keep it." She looked at Christine in triumph. "I removed it from his cravat...just before I removed his mask. His face isn't so very bad and I told him so. I don't know why he never revealed it to you though. There was really no need for your squeamishness, if that's what it was. Yes...he's quite a man."

Becky stood up, pulling on her gloves. "You should never have left him alone. Men have their needs, you know." She gestured at the pin in the other girl's trembling hand. "Like I said. Keep it. I've ordered a new one from the jeweler's in town...gold with a diamond. Well, duty calls. I promised Mother I'd be home in time to help her. She's having the Aid Society meeting this evening."

Becky stopped in the doorway and glanced back at a nerveless Christine. "Well, I just wanted to stop in and say hello. I regret our little contretemps, don't you?" Her smile was friendly. It was nice to see you again, Christine. Take care of yourself. I'll uh...I'll just see myself out."

She never looked up. She opened her palm and studied the pin which sat so harmlessly there. It was funny, she thought, but the tears that she'd felt in the back of her throat earlier were gone. What she felt now was a steadily building anger. Why had he been so underhanded about Becky? It was ludicrous to think _he_ was afraid to tell her. When had Erik _ever_ been afraid of anything? They had declared nothing to one another, and yet she had gone to St. Louis under the assumption that he would give her time to adjust to the idea of the two of them together.

She sat there a while longer, never quite imagining a homecoming such as this. She had found out much too late it seemed, that seeing new places wasn't nearly as interesting when the heart is left behind...then the journey becomes meaningless. She could hear Hannah in the kitchen, speaking in low tones with Meg. Finally she stood up, feeling listless and dull, but she well knew that the pain wasn't far away. She would go up and unpack her few things, then wash and change her dress. It was time to pay a visit to her former teacher and congratulate him on his new student...and love.


	21. Chapter 21

He fussed with his cravat over and over again, still mourning the loss of Christine's gift to him, and continued the mindless tugging on his gold waistcoat. He was excited and nervous today and had good reason for it; he patted the left breast of his black broadcloth jacket for the tenth time in as many minutes, making sure the tiny box was still there. He was in the tower room and had been seated at the piano for exactly four minutes, but bounded to his feet, unable to sit still.

Ever since Nadir told him of Christine's arrival home today, he'd been in a mad rush to get everything ready for her, working through the night and rarely stopping. The solarium was far from finished, but for what _was_ completed, he considered it to be satisfactory. He fished out his watch and checked the time again. He knew she was home, for he had been watching for the return of the buggy, and was rewarded for his trouble when they arrived early in the afternoon.

Madame Jules had stopped in front of the house, and he feasted his eyes on Christine as she got down, and turned for her traveling bag. His heart had started to pound when she glanced up to where he was standing, and automatically he raised a hand in greeting, knowing with the placement of the sun, she couldn't see him, but helpless to resist anyway. He pressed closer to the window pane as if doing so would bring her closer to his arms. She turned away and continued to the front door, and that one swift glance at her face caused him a moment of unease, for she had remained unsmiling and solemn...even from this distance, her face appeared pinched and wan.

_She's working herself too hard_. _Well, they could both relax and enjoy the fountain all day_. He intended to put the roses back in her cheeks. He loved her more than he would ever be able to show her, and his need for _her_ love was becoming almost more than he could bear.

He spent the next two hours pacing the tower room, performing his litany of tasks endlessly, until he was quite certain his cravat was wrinkled beyond repair. He ran a hand through his hair so many times, he was sure it was standing on end; perhaps he'd run downstairs and check his appearance one more time. Erik wasn't fooling himself...there wasn't very much he could do to improve his looks, but he wanted to be at his best tonight, such as it was.

Before he could move toward the door, he heard light footsteps coming up the stairs. He felt a shudder go through him. _At last!_ And gave one more tug to his waistcoat. He made himself stand still; it wouldn't do to appear too eager; she would consider him pathetic indeed. He looked toward the door, and she was there! The emptiness of the past two and half months had sucked at his will, leaving him to wonder how he'd ever been able to get through those endless days without her smile or voice. He found his legs moving under their own volition, as he strode unerringly to the source of all of his hopes...and fears.

She had not seen Nadir downstairs when she'd entered the house. Mrs. Cole's friendly face had welcomed her into the kitchen, and directed her to the tower room, where she assured her she would find Erik waiting. Christine walked on hesitant feet up the stairs, nervous and edgy after the revelations of the afternoon. She had envisioned a different meeting with Erik...she still thought of him as her maestro...it was difficult thinking of him any other way just yet, but she would have to try. She felt the heartache threatening to break her down, and she stubbornly refused to give in to it.

She reached the third floor with the tower room before her, and the pull toward it was irresistible. She stood outside the open door, and saw him standing near the piano. Her first impulse was to run to him, but she stopped herself just in time, and walked on unsteady legs into the room, just as he started walking toward her.

Almost immediately, she noticed something different about him. He was always immaculate, and for a very tall, very thin man, he wore his clothes with a certain air that bespoke breeding and class, although she had no idea of his background. But what puzzled her about him became clear all of a sudden. He was smiling. Not a twitch, and not a mere lifting of his lips, but a genuine smile. And it confused her.

In quick strides, he reached her, and caught her unresisting hands into his, pulling her into the room. "Ah! Let me look at you! It feels like two years, not two months since you left."

He held onto her hands, nearly ready to pull her into his arms, when he at last saw how pale and serious she appeared. He brought her small hands up to his mouth, and she suddenly yanked them away from his grasp.

He felt the first tendrils of fear starting to form...as of yet, a nameless dread, and he was fairly certain something was about to take away his happiness. De Chagny? Had she decided that Erik was not worthy of her? Well, of course. _He_ knew that, but he'd been hoping _she_ would remain ignorant of just how unsuitable for her he really was. Did she love the boy after all? He'd known all along what the two of them had been doing in St. Louis. He would never have left his girl alone and unprotected in that city; he paid good money to have people watch over her...and the boy. Except for visits to the conservatory or dinner once a week, they'd been busy with other pursuits, and spent very little time together. Which made Erik...very content. He had hoped to join her himself in St. Louis, but the need to replace Julia Bardot, had unfortunately intervened; he had at least been able to get much more of the solarium done, and tonight he would show her how much he loved her. He glanced uneasily at her face again. Maybe.

"Maes...Erik, we need to talk." Not even a hello for her teacher. She couldn't quite meet his eyes, and the fear he'd begun to feel, turned into full-blown terror. He stared at her, willing her to _look_ at him, and at last she did, raising sorrowful eyes to his, and he noticed with a sinking in his gut, the anger there as well.

Silently he led her over to a chair, and once she was settled, he went and sat down at the grand, feeling the sudden need for its comforting presence. "I admit...that I may have read more into this return home than is actually there. But not even a hello for your teacher, dear girl?" he said very softly. He waited patiently for her reply, not knowing what was wrong, but determined to make it better. Her next words pushed his pounding heart into his throat.

"I know about Becky, Erik." she said quietly, twisting and worrying her hands as she sat there looking so beautiful. He wanted to weep.

"Then you know that I had to use her, dear. I needed a Gilda, and she was the logical choice." He put a hand up to forestall her. "She discovered my identity...I don't know how, but she did; my only recourse was to give her the role. I had no wish to do so, please believe me. After knowing all of the pain she caused you, it was distasteful to me. Do you know how many times I've felt as if I'd betrayed you?" His eyes were pleading with her to understand...which she didn't.

"I read about her debut in the St. Louis papers, and you said nothing. You even canceled your trip. I've heard next to nothing from you, Erik." Her mouth thinned and her chin quivered, but she raised her head and met his eyes. "But...o-others saw Becky leaving your house on more than one occasion."

She was making him feel guilty for next to nothing, and he was beginning to resent it. He sprang to his feet and advanced on her. "Yes, I gave her voice lessons, Christine! What of it? _You've_ heard her! I _had_ to prepare her for opening night and had precious little time to accomplish it! Julia Bardot couldn't bloody well hop onstage, now could she? What would you have me do? Hm? We had a sold out house!" He stood in front of her, not even realizing he was shouting now.

"You left me!" he roared.

But she was having none of it. The anger that had been simmering since Becky's revelations that afternoon had become a full boil. She leapt to her feet and faced him, feeling once more, small beside his considerable height, but this time it didn't matter, for all of her jealousy and heart-ache over the past month rose up and urged her forward.

"So you had to use the one person always trying to make life miserable for me? Fine! But I thought we had an understanding, Erik. I said I needed some time, and you agreed. And what did you do? You betrayed me with someone you _knew _had become my enemy! Why did you go behind my back? Why...?" She caught a sob and swallowed with difficulty, starting to shake.

"It was a necessary evil, but I had no intention of keeping _anything_ from you, you _must_ believe that! I was coming to see you in a few days, and planned to tell you everything! Besides...I had other concerns at the time as well. If you would allow me to...".

She held up a hand as he moved closer. "I only came over for just a few minutes. T-To congratulate you on a successful opera with your new star. I-I'll be going back to school day after tomorrow."

His eyes were bright and strange, his thin lips twisted. "Why?" he said finally. "Why are you doing this?" There was a quiver in that voice she loved so well, and it shook her to hear it, but the thought of his betrayal spurred her on.

"Becky visited me this afternoon." The look on his face was suddenly suspicious and watchful. "She told me that you and she were...that the two of you had become...very, very close..." The words were hard and sharp in her mouth, threatening to choke her "L-Lovers, Erik. That's what she said you were." Saying it had become physically painful to her, seeming to lodge in a throat which had started to ache dreadfully with unshed tears.

"And you _believed_ her?" he sneered. "The always trustworthy Becky Drake?"

"Not at first, no." she said quietly.

He put his arms behind his back, a stance very familiar to her, and she again felt the raw grief trying to consume her.

"What changed your mind, if I may ask?" His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but his eyes were sparking with a light that boded ill for her.

She folded her hands primly in her lap, trying to conceal their trembling. "I notice that you're not exactly denying it. Why is that?"

His eyes had narrowed to slits and she knew that he was holding himself in by a very fragile thread. "Why would I try to deny something so ridiculous, Christine? You believe that...that trollop, but not me? What would you say if I told you that _she_ pursued me?" He made a sound of disgust. "Ah...I can see by your face you don't believe Erik. But it's true."

He looked at her with desperate eyes. "I threw her out, by the way. She didn't want _me_ so much as she wanted my money, but at any rate, she would have been a very poor substitute for you."

"S-She had proof." she said, her voice faint.

"Well, where is it then?" He said it with confidence knowing full well there wasn't any.

She could have cried right then and there. She was losing something this afternoon that had become very dear to her...and very treacherous. She opened her reticule and removed the pin, holding it out to him on a badly shaking palm and said nothing, for the pin said it all.

He had gone very still, staring at it with horror. "_She_ gave this to you?"

"Yes, this afternoon. She told me she removed it herself from your c-cravat. Something you would _never_ have allowed unless she was telling the truth. Then...then she said she removed your mask and you _let_ her. She...she said your face wasn't s-so..."

He threw his head back and the laughter drowned out the rest of her words. She stood up, indecisive, but wanting to get away from the mad sounds pouring from his throat. The sound rolled round the tower room...mirth edged in madness. She saw tears in his eyes, and put a hand out to him, which he ignored. She started to back up slowly, only meaning to put a little distance between them, when the laughter stopped suddenly, and his hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her wrist.

"Where do you think _you're_ going? I lost the pin a while ago, but I can see that you do indeed have a suspicious nature, for why else would you believe your worst enemy and not me?" He looked down at her imprisoned wrist. "We have some visiting left to do. Remember? I have something to show you, Christine." She shook her head, but he started pulling her out the door and down the hall.

"You are going to _love_ this! It was a surprise just for you. Oh, it's far from finished, but you'll get the idea, I assure you!" Sarcasm was thick as treacle in his voice; something she hadn't heard from him in a long while. Until today.

The closer they came to the doors at the end of the hallway, the angrier he was becoming. Her eyes were blinded by tears, but she could make out the beautiful double doors with the peacocks in their bright greens, blues and turquoise. He threw them open and swept her inside, still clutching a wrist that was becoming numb. It would be circled in livid bruises the next morning.

"How do you like it, darling? I built this just for you, and worked my ass off...oh, dear! Pardon _me_! Day and night, night and day, day and night..." He stopped his chant, and with a deep throated chuckle, he glanced behind him, "well, such as it is, I did."

In her fear and sorrow, she couldn't remember the details, but at another time she would have been enchanted with the wide open feel of the place because of the floor to ceiling windows. She had never seen anything like it. It was simply stunning.

"Please, Erik. Just let me go. We can discuss this rationally, c-can't we?" She tugged ineffectually at her arm, and he looked down in curiosity at her.

"_Discuss_? Why yes. That's exactly what I thought we _were_ doing. But I must know it all, my darling. Becky saw my face, did she? Did she describe it to you, Christine?" He had his head tilted, watching her with a sickly smile stretching his lips. He leaned down and she flinched away from him. "Did she _describe_ it to you?" he repeated, whispering softly, and she saw the burning glare directed at her. She shook her head rapidly in the negative, but it did little to appease him.

"Would _you_ like to see my face, Christine?" he said in a low, sly voice. "After all, why should she have all the enjoyment? Just ask me, child! I would do _anything_ for you."

"Then let me go! Stop this right now!"

"No. I won't. Aren't you enjoying yourself, Christine? Oh, but I want you to be happy in these rooms. Just as happy as I."

She'd finally had enough, and she began to tug in earnest at her numb wrist in his tight hold. "You're mad, Erik." she said in a high breathless voice.

He transferred his grip to her forearm. "_Mad_, you say?" He shook his head slowly, and ran a hand through hair as black as a crow's wing. "No." he said thoughtfully, "Not _I._ Mad is when four boys much older than a puny eight year old, take turns using him as a punching bag. Mad is people who should have a little more compassion, throwing rocks at a hungry child who only wanted some food for his empty belly. But the _worst_ kind of mad?" He looked down at her, his eyes alight with a vast sorrow and an ancient unredeemed rage. "Keeping that very same child in a cage, in his own filth, and showing his face for money. And if said child refuses to perform...why then, just lay a whip on him until he does!"

She was stunned by his words, and knew in that moment, _why_ he was such a wounded soul. And her heart ached for him. Dear God...she had through her own petty jealousy and perceived hurt, harmed him terribly...perhaps irrevocably. He was no callow boy, playing at love. He was a man deeply damaged by a world constantly trying to reduce him to nothing. And she was just as guilty as everyone else.

He put both hands out to her in supplication. "I did nothing wrong, Christine. Why? Why would you believe that evil bitch? Why...why...why?" The word echoed hollowly around the room and she wished to cover her ears from the despairing sound of it.

She needed to stop this now before it was irreparable...he needed to know. "Erik...I _love_ you," but the sound whistled out of a throat closed in terror. She had opened a can of worms and something nasty had slithered out_._

He was bent over, hands on his thighs, red eyes intensely focused on her. He saw her lips move and speak of love, but he shook his head at that ridiculous notion. If only he could _convince_ her, then all would not be lost. "Becky didn't see my face, Christine. I can prove it! By God, I can prove it! Let me show you! Dear God, I can prove she never saw Erik's face!" His voice was tinged with an edge of hysteria, and with badly shaking hands, slipped the mask from his face and looked at her for the very first time with nothing to hide behind.

She was helpless _not_ to look, for she had always been curious about his need for concealment, and at last she knew _why_ he hid. _What _he hid. And realized far too late that Becky had indeed lied, and she had foolishly walked into her trap. For she could not possibly have seen his face and remained so calm. Her feverish eyes roamed over the contorted features stopping at the center where a nose should have been, and where existed instead, only nasal cavities. They unerringly moved on to the extended brow ridge, the unnaturally high cheekbones, and skin which was stretched drum tight over-all. The thin as paper skin was white as milk, blue black veins appearing stark under the scant flesh, but across the cheeks and forehead, it was a sickly grayish yellow. It was the face of a dead man.

"Handsome fellow, am I not? Still think Becky viewed this...this monstrosity? Anywhere in your convoluted, suspicious mind, do you think she wanted _this_? Anymore than..." He caught a sob before it left his mouth, "anymore than you do, I daresay." He simply could not stand the thought that Christine didn't believe him. His excitement at having her home again had devolved into his defending himself from a pack of lies, leading him to show her his horrific features. Something he'd thought he could never do.

But when he finally had the courage to meet those eyes he loved so well, he didn't see the horror of what she was viewing shining from them. It wasn't disgust of the twisted features or the fact that his eyes were sunken in their sockets, or even that his nose was merely a hole in the center of his face. What he saw welling in those damned cornflower orbs of hers was something which tore the last shreds of his sanity away.

"No! Absolutely not, Christine!" he roared. "Damn you! _Damn you! _Don't you pity me! Don't you dare!" he bellowed at her, and grabbed her by the upper arms. His face was mere inches from hers, and she stared into his burning eyes, quaking with fear and love by turns. His strength was inhuman; he'd nearly lifted her off of the floor with complete ease, and backed her into a corner of the beautiful room.

"You have ruined me! _Ruined_ me, I tell you! After years of self-hatred, I finally had some peace in my life...not happiness, no...never happiness, but peace, such as it was." His hands caressed her arms, softly...gently, then tightened on her once again. "Until that night...that sublime night I looked up at a window, and saw a vision. An angel you were, Christine." His breath was coming faster now in sobbing pants.

She tried to break that iron grip on her arms; she only wanted to grab him and hold him close against the horror she'd single-handedly dredged up. No...not alone. She hadn't done this alone. There was a wealth of people responsible for his jaundiced and horribly skewed vision of the world. But at this moment in time, she was the only one who mattered to him, therefore, she was the most culpable.

"To these tired eyes you were an angel...your golden hair spilling over your shoulders, wrapped in a nimbus of light. You were so beautiful to me." he said, moaning in despair. He took a gasping breath, his eyes filled with deep sorrow and longing. "You looked so young...so very young and tender...but utterly delectable." He released one arm and ran his fingers down her jaw, down the slender column of her neck, and she shivered.

"I wanted you then, and God help me...I want you now. I always will..." he whispered in a broken voice. She could only stand there, shaking as if from high fever, and feel his heartbreak as if it was a live thing.

"Erik..." her voice squeaked out...her instrument, trained and nurtured by him, was utterly useless when she needed it the most.

"You _stole_ something from me that night. You _took_ it just like a thief steals that which isn't his! And I haven't been the same since." he whispered. His eyes were swimming in tears, red rimmed and lit with a mad light. "I tried to put you from my mind...God knows I tried! But what did you do? You crept into the tower room...and right into my heart, and...and I was lost then. I fought so hard for my peace of mind, Christine...fought hard in a world that never wanted me. And you took it away, and I'll never get it back now!"

He looked at her then, and she whimpered in dismay, to see the tracks of tears on his dead face. "_I _betrayed you?" He shook his head slowly, dreamily. "No, dear one." She saw the love he held for her, still evident in his eyes, but now their was a great weariness there as well. "_You_...betrayed me."

He released her suddenly, and she swayed, putting a hand out to one of the beautiful windows he'd surrounded the room in just for her. He made the sound a wounded animal makes when caught in a cruel trap, and put shaking hands up to his ruined face, and began to claw it in long furrows, tearing the delicate skin with his nails, drawing blood, which welled up and started to drip off of his chin.

"See, child? I bleed the same as any man, but let's start over, shall we? I'll just get rid of this monstrosity, and give you a new one." He continued pulling and tearing at his face, and pushed to her limit, she screamed at him.

"Stop it! For God's sake, Erik...stop it!"

He peeked at her from behind his hands, now red with blood. "_God_? Why, Christine...God had no part in _this_! I am the Devil's child. Pure and simple." And then he saw the horror he'd first expected, glinting in her cornflower eyes...but it was mixed with the damned pity he loathed so very much.

He started backing away from her, leaving drops of blood on the floor, and with an anguished howl, he grabbed the bench he'd labored over with such love, and hurled it at the window. The impact of the shattering glass from the large object was tremendous, and she covered her ears to lessen the sound. The bench became lodged in the window, having caught on the wooden ribs of the window frame. She heard him panting and moaning as he stumbled from the room, and her legs finally ceased to function, and she collapsed onto the floor. She drew her legs up underneath her and wrapped her arms around her head, and started rocking herself back and forth.

"Erik," she whispered. "my God, my God...what have I done?" Her voice sounded reedy and so weak. She could hear the sounds of destruction as he made his way through the house, but only as a far away noise with little meaning. For all she could manage at the moment, was to rock herself amid the wreckage of their lives.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She wasn't sure how long she sat huddled in the corner of the room. It could have been five minutes...or sixty for that matter. Her teeth wouldn't stop chattering, and she felt nauseated, sickened by all that had taken place that day. Her head was on her knees; she felt no great urge to get up, and she was startled when a gentle hand squeezed her shoulder.

"Erik?" she said, faintly...hopefully, as she looked up, and found herself meeting the worried eyes of Mrs. Cole.

"Miss! A-Are you all right? Land's sake, but that man is evil! He knocked over and smashed anything close to his hands, running through the house on the first floor! When I heard the crash from up here, well, I didn't know what to think!"

She looked closer at Christine, trying to determine if any of the blood on the floor was hers. "Come, child. Let's leave before he returns," and she reached for her arm to help her up.

Christine got hesitantly to her feet, feeling numb and detached from everything. "He's not evil, Mrs. Cole." she said tiredly, her voice only a whisper. "And he never harmed me. Only himself."

The housekeeper led her toward the door, but Christine spied something on the floor, and bending down, she picked up his mask. Unthinkingly, she held it close, wondering if he was still somewhere in the house yet.

"Where did he go?"

They were in the hallway and heading to the stairs, and Mrs. Cole shook her head. "I know he left like a fury on that bad tempered horse of his, but where he was going..."

Christine paused on the second floor landing, and while the housekeeper watched in puzzlement, she caressed the serene lady. "Watch over him. _Please_." she whispered.

When they got to the bottom stair, she glanced dully at the newel post where Atlas leaned drunkenly sideways, hanging only by one corner of the brass base. The glass globe of the world lay in shattered pieces on the Italian stone in the hall. The destruction and blood-drops went down the hallway and to the door leading to the cellars. Clutching the mask to her chest, she approached the door cautiously. "I need a light, Mrs. Cole. Do you have a lantern I can use?"

The housekeeper stared at her in disbelief, worry etched on her lined face. "Where are you going? I don't think it's safe down there, Miss."

Christine turned to her before she opened the door. "You said yourself he left here. Besides...he wouldn't harm me, Mrs. Cole." she said, with a hitch in her voice. "I have to at least check and see if there are any animals he left behind. H-He was upset, and might have forgotten about them."

The housekeeper reluctantly brought her a lantern from the kitchen, and Christine pulled open the door and started down the steps surrounded by the silence and cool dark of the labyrinthine space. She lost her way several times, searching for the room where he kept his animals; she came across the organ room on one wrong turn, and instead of leaving, she opened the door and went inside. And froze.

He'd been here as well, taking his rage out on one of his most prized possessions...the organ. Many of the keys were smashed, and some of the pipes were lying haphazardly on the floor. She stared in horror at the wall beside the Cavaille-Coll.

There was blood in here as well, for written on the wall in ghastly red, which would eventually dry to the color of rust was the word, _monster_. Once again the anguish of having been duped so badly when she should have known better smote her. How stupid and gullible she'd been.

She put a hand out to the awful letters and the tip of her finger came away with his blood. "You're not the monster, my love." She stared hard at the evidence of his disturbed mind, and felt scared and ineffectual. "I am."

He had been out of his mind with rage...and it was all her fault. Her jealousy had led her to believe something about him that hadn't existed. And Erik was not the average man to play the mindless games of love...he was much too fragile emotionally to be labeled something he was not.

She left the room, where the two of them had enjoyed an enchanted evening of his music, and started walking again, eventually coming across the room she was seeking. Christine, after all this time, had entertained the vague hope that her maestro would at some point return to the house. But it wasn't to be. The room with the cages was empty, and apparently had been for some time. Lucifer was missing though, and she left the cellar by the outside doors, and arrived there just as the sun was going down.

Winking like glittering diamonds in the dying light, in the brown and seared grass of winter, were pieces of the window from above. She found him sitting underneath the large maple in the back yard, tail curled tightly around his sleek body. On stiff legs, she walked over and sat down beside him on the cold ground, putting her back against the tree. The very same tree she had fallen against that October night she'd first come face to face with her maestro...her love.

She reached a hand out to him and scratched his ears. "He's gone, Luce. What do we do now?" She looked at the cat through eyes blinded by tears. Her mind conjured up a vision of his poor face...and it changed nothing. He was still her maestro. "What do we do now?" Lucifer stared back impassively at her, and Christine put her head down and wept.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She stood in front of her wardrobe, wondering which of her many dresses would go to New York with her. She chewed a thumbnail as she pulled out the skirt of her brown plaid suit. "Mm...no. That won't do."

She had broken the news to her parents about moving in with her aunt and uncle, and they were dead set against her doing something they considered absolutely foolish. She had expected just that reaction, but it would do nothing to change her mind. She was leaving and that was that. She would get her train ticket tomorrow, and leave the house while her mother was at one of her endless tea parties, leaving a note for them after she was long gone from this dreary town.

Becky had been ecstatic after her visit with Christine yesterday afternoon. She didn't think the girl would be going near Archer House any time soon. It had made her day to see poor Christine's broken heart at the masked devil's supposedly fickle heart. To think that awful excuse of a man would reject _her_ for that little wretch was laughable. Maybe New York would be much better hunting after all. Why settle for someone who should have been drowned at birth...much better to have wealth _and_ good looks in a husband. She would get her packing done this very moment and not delay any longer. She didn't think it would be wise to stay around St. Joe anymore.

She never heard him as he came up behind her and put a rag saturated with chloroform over her mouth and nose. She felt consciousness slipping away, along with the control of her limbs, as she breathed in the drug, and her last sight was a face from a nightmare. She tried to open her mouth to scream and instead met oblivion.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

The room was small and stank of mildew. She slowly opened her eyes, her head aching from the effort.

"She's awake, Erik." She heard the gruff tones of a man and turned her head sharply, moaning at the increase of pain behind her eyes. She stared at the large form sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the room; his clothes were those of a common working man...plain, but fairly clean and he wore a seaman's cap over hair that was an indiscriminate color, somewhere between gray and brown. Her grandmother used to call that particular color, Saxon hair.

"Excellent, Armand. Excellent. We have much to do, and I want to be gone from here as soon as possible." He came into her line of vision, and she cringed back against the wall. His face was pale and ugly, with deep scratches still red and oozing on ghastly looking cheeks. His nose was long and oddly transparent; a mustache sat above his thin upper lip...and his hatred for her shone out of eyes which burned like twin flames.

"_Miss_ Drake. We meet again. And under an auspicious new beginning for you." It was said in that beautiful voice of his, but the tonal quality was flat, sounding very much without any kind of emotion...dead.

"Why am I here? What...what are you going to do?" She felt ill, but with a faint edge of panic beginning to settle in.

"Do?" He sat down in the other chair at the table and surveyed her with cold amusement. "Why...don't you remember what we discussed the last time we met? What I would do if you mentioned me to anyone?" and the switchblade was suddenly in his hand as he eyed her with deadly intent.

Becky screamed weakly, but Erik only smiled. "No one around _here_ cares about you, Becky Drake. Absolutely no one. Least of all myself. I would much prefer you rotting in Hell, but you see...I have a much better plan in mind for you," and the knife was gone.

He gestured to the man behind him. "This is Armand. Last name not required. Armand is a smuggler of cargo...the human variety, that is. He's quite familiar with all the river ports in any number of places. He should be...he's been in the business for decades. We have worked together over the years...at times I required passage on his boat, and occasionally, well...he had the need for someone to...disappear."

He sat back in his chair and his cold gaze swept over her. "I'm sure you've heard of New Orleans, no?" Becky said nothing, but dread was pooling in her stomach, and with the affects of the drug still present in her body, she was becoming nauseous.

Erik leaned forward impatiently and said sharply, "Speak up when someone addresses you!"

She nodded her head in sharp jerks. "Y-Yes, I-I've heard of it. Why?"

Her fear only increased at the smile playing around his thin lips. "Another question for you. You don't mind, do you? Ah...very good. Do you know what a bordello is by any chance?" At her blank stare, he more than willingly explained. "It's a business like any other, but the commodity that is being sold is..." he watched her closely, enjoying himself immensely, "um...what you tried to give _me_."

"Are you mad?" she whispered, feeling the utter horror of her situation.

"Well, yes. I believe I am. But that's neither here nor there now, is it? But let me finish for time grows short."

"There is a _very_ exclusive bordello in New Orleans that caters to a certain clientele...they prefer young virginal girls, although I'm not exactly certain if you are or aren't. Your _thoughts_ are definitely not, but no matter...you're at least young enough."

He turned in his chair and addressed the other man. "Is that correct, Armand?" At the man's nod, he faced Becky again. "You see, I have no prior knowledge of this establishment, but my friend Armand here does, and he assures me you will love it. And indeed you shall. It has everything a liar of your caliber requires. To wit...a large beautiful house, sumptuous rooms, and fine dining. Why...you'll be living in the lap of luxury...just what you've always wanted. Oh, but you'll be too busy making money for the uh," he cleared his throat and his lip twitched, "proprietor, to _enjoy_ any of it yourself, but one can't have everything...eh, Becky?"

He grinned, which to her was awful to see, for it was the cheerfulness of a lunatic. "I believe one of your other requirements is a wealthy man, am I correct? Just nod. Very good. In this case, that wish will also be granted, _many_ times over. And escape? No, no, and no. You _will_ be watched closely and have limited movement...a very kept woman you shall be." He shook his head gently at her. "And you thought I'd be upset with you, foolish girl."

She stared at him in horror. "Please. Don't do this. Why can't I stay here...with you?" She forced eagerness into her voice. "I would be good to you."

He laughed at that...laughed until tears filled his eyes. "Would you prefer I cut out your tongue, you lying bitch? Perhaps I can send you to New Orleans that way...you'd be a much better whore, no?"

For one moment his anger rekindled, and he only wished to remove her tongue. With a smooth practiced turn of the wrist, which Armand secretly admired, the deadly knife was in his hand, and he stood up; in an amazingly short amount of time, he was beside Becky and painfully prying her mouth open. Becky saw his intention and began screaming again with his cold fingers digging into her jaws."Shtop him! 'e's cwazy!" She continued screeching until Armand's deep rumble cut through the noise she was making.

"They won't accept her then at Lil's, Erik." Armand said apologetically. He hated to ruin the man's fun. "Some of the regular gents, prefer _other_ methods of...pleasure," and Armand's eyes gleamed with salacious glee when they alighted on her.

The masked man nodded. "Point taken," and the knife disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. He gave her head a rough shove, and went back to his seat.

Armand gestured at Erik's now empty hands. "How the hell do you do that?"

The look he turned on the river captain was not quite sane. "Magic, Armand. I am the world's most skilled magician!" He laughed, and the sound of it chased cold chills up the tough boat captain's spine. "Observe! Am I not making the _vastly_ talented Becky Drake disappear forever from St. Joseph?"

Becky trembled from the spiteful glee of that beautiful voice.

"How can you be so cruel?"

The look he gave her made her flinch. "I...cruel? No, no." He shook his head and gestured Armand forward. "What _you_ did to my Christine was cruel. What you did to Erik was also cruel. What I am doing to you is...justice. Perhaps when you're through with your ah...lusty duties for the day," he paused, and she could have sworn the bastard _winked_ at her, "and the evening, of course...well, maybe they'll let you sing for your supper. You shall be the diva then, and _only_ then."

Armand came forward and pulled Becky to her feet, and her knees threatened to buckle on her. She smelled something sharp and odiferous, and she swayed dizzily, but the big man was relentless, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to the door.

"Wait! W-Where is he taking me?"

"Armand is one of the best river captains on the Missouri, and I might add, the mighty Mississippi, and you will be his guest for quite a while. "By the way, how _did _ you get my pin in your greedy little hands, hm? Oh...won't say? Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it? Behave yourself, Miss Drake and enjoy your boat ride," and he turned his back on her and continued writing at the table.

She glared balefully at him. "You're a monster! I _cringed_ at the thought of you touching me! You animal! _Animal_!" She screamed and raged at him, flailing weakly at her captor, who quickly put the chloroform rag over her nose, and once more she went limp. He picked her up and tossed her over one beefy shoulder.

"You have a long way to travel, Armand. You must space the drug out or you will kill her, and I want her to live the life for which she is suited...a whore. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I do. What about those letters to her folks?"

Erik had returned to the table and was doing a very good facsimile of Becky's handwriting from a letter he'd taken from her bedroom. "Almost finished. I'll have the first one mailed from somewhere far away from here. Miss Drake is not going to New York, Armand...oh no, not she. For all intents and purposes, Becky has joined a traveling troupe of opera performers who never stay in one place for very long. I will send letters home from every dingy cow town west of the Missouri..._she _will be informing her parents of how much the denizens of the various towns they travel through, delight in her beauty and voice. And then, after a few months or so, the letters will stop. She will just disappear, and that will be the end of Becky. Perhaps her mother will think her daughter found love with a traveling salesman or a ranch hand working for some spread in Oklahoma. Who knows? They'll never find her." He stood up and retrieved the carpet bag near the small bed, and gave it to the other man.

"You _will_ keep an eye on Lil's, won't you? You know what to do if dear Becky would happen to make it outside?" At his nod, Erik continued. "I tossed as many of her clothes in there as I could. After all, she _is_ running away. It would look too suspicious if she left with only those on her back." He looked at the rough captain with weary eyes and shrugged. "She should be glad that I draw the line at killing a woman, even a poor excuse for one." He gestured with a finger at her limp body. "Shame really. _This_ one would have been a pleasure to strangle."

The boat captain turned to leave. "Oh...and Armand? Don't sample the wares on the trip there. Pay for it like the other customers."

Armand grinned and opened the door.

Erik glanced one last time at the unconscious form draped over Armand's shoulder, and his eyes gleamed with a mad light, eerily lit from within. "Enjoy your new life in Hell, for _that_ is where you have left _me_."

Once the door closed on them, he dropped his head into his hands, suddenly so very tired of life. "Christine." Her whispered name held all of his sorrow and yearning. He gingerly removed the pasteboard nose from his face, held there as it was by using spirit gum, the edges of the mask extending outward on his deformed cheeks. He carefully touched the raw wounds he'd inflicted on himself, which had begun to bleed sluggishly again from the nose being pulled away.

He was quite sure his destructive dash through the house that night would have chased poor Mrs. Cole away and out of his life. The good daroga was in Excelsior Springs on business, and wouldn't be home until tomorrow afternoon.

And his darling? Well, no doubt she would be thanking the very gods for her timely delivery from the beast that dared to love her, and be on board the next train out of St. Joseph. And he would let her go. Once, he'd wanted her at any cost, expecting love to come eventually; he would have done anything to make her love him. But in that moment when she'd looked at him with that terrified pity, he'd felt the yawning blackness rushing up to meet him. He couldn't base a life with her on that...it would be a bitter love...a mad love, and not the one he wished for them. She must want him as a woman wants a man. As _he_ desired her. And he felt now that it was impossible.

He put the counterfeit letter in an envelope and carefully addressed it, then got wearily to his feet. He left the shack and went out to the hitching post where the mare waited impatiently, stamping her feet. He untied the reins, and mounting, sat and watched as the Lucky Lady made its way downriver with its cargo of cowhides, soybeans, and Becky Drake. He started to laugh then, and couldn't stop, picturing the dainty Miss Drake perched on a pallet of stinking cowhides, surrounded by soybeans. A sailor from one of the riverboats, leaning against a nearby wall, paused in his groping of a prostitute and crossed himself. "That poor son of a bitch slipped his anchor, 'e has." he whispered to himself.

Erik continued his hysterical laughter, finally wheezing to a stop. He paused to take a breath, and was surprised to feel the sting of tears on his wounded face. He watched the boat until it was completely out of sight, then turned the mare's head and left the docks, riding away from St. Joseph and leaving behind him his love and much of his sanity.


	22. Chapter 22

The second week of May was as rainy as the first, and most in St. Louis wished only for a brace of dry days strung together. The two of them sat in McCurdy's Tearoom on a dark, dreary afternoon, and Raoul added yet another spoonful of sugar to his already sweet tea. He stirred it, watching the swirling crystals melt and disappear. He took a cautious sip.

"Ehh...it's too sweet." he complained, making a face.

Christine nodded at the sugar bowl. "Well, why did you add so much of it then?" she snapped. "It was full when we sat down...you've emptied half of it." Her lips were thin as she turned to look out at the wet street.

"To kill the taste of the tea. Why else, Christine?" He snapped back, watching her as she continued looking out the window, her brow furrowed. "You know, I'd much rather be in Harrigan's Saloon having a beer right about now." he said irritably.

He glanced around the frilly, white curtained room, wondering what it was about women and their love for tea and mindless chatter. Well, not all women he conceded. He looked at her face, noticing for the first time the dark smudges under her eyes.

"Then what's stopping you? If you didn't want to come here, then you should have said something." she sniffed.

"Aw...let's stop this bickering. It's the weather that has us grumpy, not to mention the threat of that fever going round." He gestured to the nearly empty restaurant. "Everyone is afraid of getting sick, I guess. Either that, or they're tired of all the rain, and they're staying close to their own firesides." He pointed to the scone on her plate. "Eat something, why don't you...you're getting too thin."

She smiled a little at that. "Yes, Mother," and picked up the scone and took a bite. Chewing slowly, she swallowed and sipped some of her tea, still watching the street...always hoping for a tall thin figure to appear out of nowhere and end her misery. "You're exactly right though," and she sighed as the scurrying forms rushed by in the wet gloom, heads bent against the chill downpour which never seemed to stop anymore, "everyone knows _someone_ who has been sick with this...this illness."

And some had died she knew. Older folks and children seemed more susceptible. Raoul was worried about his father and youngest brother, Freddy...they were both ill, but Mr. de Chagny was the sicker of the two, and he wasn't a young man anymore.

She looked at him, then placed her hand over his on the starched tablecloth. "I think they'll be much better by the time you get home. When do you leave?"

He squeezed her hand, feeling the fragile bones of her fingers. "The nine o'clock train. Mother's alone with him and the children. She still hadn't got hold of Philippe in her last wire, and I should be there in case..." He trailed off and looked away from her blue eyes filled with concern for him.

Christine sighed and pushed her plate away. "I really don't want anymore." She chewed at her lip and looked around the room. "People are sick here and in St. Joe. How far does it go, do you think?" She had a vision of Erik lying in a room somewhere alone and sick, perhaps dying, and the thought made her blanch. But he was so healthy and strong. Surely not...

Raoul saw her white face and reached for her hand. "Hey, Chris! Don't worry. Everything will turn out all right. None of your folks are sick, are they? I had a letter from Meg and she said they were fine there."

She immediately felt the guilt, because it hadn't been her aunt or Hannah she'd been thinking about. "Uh, no. They're all well. I just wondered how far away the fever has spread."

He paid their bill and the two of them walked out into the rain, Christine opening her umbrella.

While they waited for the trolley, her mind went back to the night Erik left, and the agony she'd endured since. She had waited impatiently for Nadir to arrive home in the late afternoon of the following day. As soon as she saw him dismounting near the carriage house she'd rushed over.

He turned with a smile on his face, but it died when he caught her look of unhappiness. Without knowing what had happened, he automatically opened his arms to her and she gladly walked into them. She started to cry and the Persian was hard put to understand a single word she said, but what he did hear, was very disturbing. He led her up to his apartment and sat her down in his tiny kitchen.

"All right, Christine. Tell me everything."

In a halting voice, she told him about her gullibility at believing Becky, and the subsequent rage of Erik's because she had. "This is all my fault! Nadir...he was so b-broken when he left here!"

Nadir looked speculatively at her. "That blasted girl took that pin! I don't know how, but she never got it from Erik. He was frantic when he couldn't find it, and he made us turn that house upside down looking for it."

This news only increased her guilt. "That's what Hannah told me. Nadir...h-he tore at his f-face! It was awful...just awful! He slaved over those beautiful rooms to p-please me, and...and w-what did I do?" She put shaking hands over her face. "I hurt him just like everyone else! He w-was so happy when I arrived. Why couldn't I see that?"

The Persian put a hand on her shoulder and remained silent for a few minutes. "What's done is done, child." he said finally. "It's unfortunate, but there's nothing to do now, but go forward. Try not to worry so about him. Erik has survived much worse in his life." He patted her shoulder. "This was a blow to him, no doubt, but if I know my masked friend at all, he's gone away to lick his wounds. He won't forget you, Christine. He could _never _do that."

"But I don't know when he's coming back, and even if he d-does...he won't forgive me. I-I know he won't."

"Christine." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Erik has never been in a relationship with a woman before. He's as green as grass when it comes to you ladies, but he recognized a gold-digger when he saw one in the Drake girl. He knew he had the real thing in you, and he sent _her_ packing." He shook his head. "She realized your attachment to Erik, and used it to get back at him." He looked at her and smiled. " But love you he does, and I don't think anything will ever change that."

He sat down on the other chair and took her hand in his. "He should have kept his head yesterday and simply talked some sense into you...after all, you're very young. And Erik is aware of that. But he is as inexperienced as you are in dealing with matters of the heart. I feared this happening, Christine. As I've said before...he has a brilliant mind, but one that is completely unprepared to deal with a young woman in love and, I might add...a jealous one."

She looked up at him in surprise and he smiled. "_Erik_ may be innocent of the workings of the female mind, but that doesn't apply to me, child. I've seen the way you are with him, and a woman doesn't travel a whole day and react the way you just did out of mere friendship. But he couldn't see it in that light, could he? My friend thought he was losing you, and Erik never does anything by halves."

She gave him a watery grin. "No. He doesn't, does he?" She sobered then and regarded him sadly. "I do love him, Nadir. I tried to tell him that yesterday, b-but I was so frightened." She shook her head in denial. "Not of him! Never of him." she said faintly. "It's what he might do to others that scares me. B-Becky in particular."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Yes. I as well. He can be devious, and he never takes anything lightly." He smiled wryly, as he glanced up at the broken window on the third floor of the main house...and the incongruity of the white bench forlornly stuck there. "Most especially anything pertaining to you. No, I fear what he may have done to that idiot girl who started all of this."

He appraised the devastated young woman before him. _Why do __you__ always insist on shooting yourself in your own foot, my old friend? _He took both of her hands in his warm ones. "Erik told you the truth, Christine. I'm sorry that this happened, but you know yourself that he doesn't always react like most men would. A situation such as this would upset any man, but imagine how much worse it is for him."

He saw her sorrowful expression and squeezed her hands gently. "It will be fine. He will return to you, just give him time."

"H-He was so angry...h-he bared his face to me, and..." She swiped a hand across her cheeks, and Nadir seeing it, fished in his pocket and brought out his handkerchief and gave it to her. Christine nodded her thanks, and wiped at her eyes. "He hurt himself, Nadir. He put deep scratches down his face."

"He was indeed very upset to do that." he said softly. Did his face frighten you at all?" he asked her curiously.

"It was startling to see it after all this time wondering about it." she said truthfully. "But no, it didn't frighten me. I-I was horrified when he told me how others have reacted to it. It was..." Her tears started again when she realized that she was just another of the many people who had caused him grief.

"Love is indeed blind as a bat." he muttered to himself, astonished that the girl had seen Erik's face, witnessed his irrational behavior, yet still waited hopefully for him to come home. Yes...amazing.

"What?" She looked up at him, twisting the sodden handkerchief in her fingers.

He smiled faintly at her. "Nothing, Christine. You were saying...?"

"It was his eyes that frightened me so badly. The rage I saw there, and the...and the s-sorrow. I-I closed my eyes last night, and that's all I could see! H-His bloody face!"

She thought of that afternoon in the clearing when he'd asked her to stay. Her answer to him now would be entirely different. She tried to pull herself out of the morass she found herself in, but it had occurred to her on more than one occasion, that if he loved her so much, then why wasn't he here with her now? And that only succeeded in making her feel worse.

The Persian walked her to the door and chucked her gently under the chin. "He'll come back, child. With you here, he won't stay away too long. Trust me in this."

She had worried excessively at the fact that Becky was missing almost at the same time as her maestro; she wouldn't put it past him to do something in retaliation to all the grief she'd caused, but after two weeks, a letter had arrived from the cause of all of their problems, informing her parents she had joined a touring opera company. Since that day, other letters had arrived from different towns, extolling Becky's popularity with the gentlemen in every town they visited. And Christine thought... good riddance to her.

But it had already been over three months. Nadir had finally received a wire from Erik three weeks after he'd left. He was back to bounty hunting and was tracking a quarry north of Bonner Springs in Kansas. So according to how they stayed in touch before, Nadir sent telegrams to any town within that radius, knowing he'd eventually get one of them. Christine had through the Persian, pleaded with Erik to come home, but so far he'd ignored her.

She had gone back to the conservatory on the Monday following Erik's defection, and her wait for him had begun from that point. But something he had told her about his prior life returned to her. And once the idea was entertained a fraction, she couldn't rid herself of it.

The old stone orphanage where he'd spent the first years of his life, was near the conservatory, and that's where she was going today. Maybe someone there would remember him, and the more she knew about her teacher, the better to try and understand him. With Raoul she boarded the horse trolley and sitting down, they talked quickly, trying to say everything at once, knowing it would be a while before they met again.

Just before she got off at her stop, she turned back to her friend. "Give my best wishes to everyone, and if you have the time, go see Meg while you're home, Raoul. I think she'd like it if you did."

He gave her that slow grin to which she'd first been attracted. Before a certain masked man had entered her life and changed the very path her life _would_ have taken. Raoul had begun writing to Meg after her return to St. Louis in February...and Meg had written back. Christine was fairly certain that her nudge in Meg's direction wasn't really needed, and could only hope that it worked out for the both of them.

Instead of going through the black iron gates of the conservatory, she turned left on the sidewalk, and underneath the wet, dismal sky she walked the three blocks to the orphanage where Erik had been brought all those years ago.

When she got to the gates of the children's home, she was stunned at the size of the place. It was built of massive gray stone, with pointed turrets at each of the corners, and appeared more of a fortress than a home for those in their tender years. Whether it was the bleak day or the architecture of the building, it was a forbidding place, and her heart quailed at the thought of any child, let alone a deformed little boy growing up in this monolithic pile of rock.

She went through the gate and up to the brass studded door, using the large knocker with no small hesitancy. After a minute or so, a stout middle-aged woman pulled open the door, and looked Christine up and down suspiciously.

"Yes?"

"I wonder if I may speak to whoever is in charge. It...it concerns someone I know who grew up here many years ago."

The woman looked skeptically at Christine, prepared to close the door, when a quarrelsome voice intervened. "Who is it, Matilda? If they're selling something, tell them to go away!"

Matilda looked over her shoulder at the unseen woman and shook her head. "No, Mrs. Guthrie. She's wanting to speak to someone about a child from here."

"Ha! That could be any one of a thousand then." the voice stated unequivocally.

She heard the other woman approaching the door and Matilda disappeared into the dim interior. A tall, spare woman took her place, her white hair pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, and a pair of spectacles perched at the end of an aquiline nose.

She peered closely at Christine, apparently satisfied with what she saw. "Well, don't just stand there, young woman. Come in, come in."

Christine left her dripping umbrella just inside the entry doors and looked around curiously. Surrounding them in the cavernous hall was dark paneled wainscoting and peeling green wallpaper, spotted liberally with water stains. Large stone tiles, some cracked and missing, were under her feet. Even on a sunny day, it would not be a welcoming place.

"Matilda!" she called stridently, and when the other woman appeared, Mrs. Guthrie looked at Christine with lifted eyebrows, noting her chilled hands and damp clothing. "Tea. Bring it into the parlor, please."

"Your name, young woman and kindly state your business," as she gestured for her to be seated in the old fashioned parlor. Christine sat down hesitantly on a lumpy horsehair sofa and looked around the room with interest, wondering to herself if these were the original furnishings, for they looked like something from another century.

"Mrs. Guthrie, my name is Christine Daae, ma'am, and I'm a student at the music conservatory here in St. Louis. I'm looking for someone who may have known my...former voice teacher when he was a boy here." She folded her hands primly in her lap, eying the older woman nervously.

Mrs. Guthrie looked with renewed interest at her, tapping a finger on her pointed chin. "Daae, Daae. Why is that name familiar to me? You said that you attend the music school here?"

"Yes, ma'am, but before that I was part of the company at the St. Joseph Opera House for a short while."

"Of course. I read in the paper about its re-opening. I've heard some good things about the place as well as your reviews from..." She stopped a moment in thought. "Marriage of Figaro, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was, but..." She was interrupted when Matilda returned with the tea tray, and departed after pouring them each a cup.

Mrs. Guthrie took a sip of her tea, then regarded her with a shade more friendliness. "How can I help you, Miss Daae?"

"My teacher once lived here. Years ago, but I'm not sure how many. He was just a baby when he first came here, ma'am."

"Well, that could be any one of our children who came through here, Miss Daae. This establishment has been here for seventy-five years, and I've been here for almost forty."

"Oh, but you would remember Erik, Mrs. Guthrie. He..."

Her cup clattered in the saucer as she hastily set it down. "Erik?" She stared at Christine with eyes suddenly gleaming with excitement. "Give me a description of this _Erik_." she said bluntly.

Christine leaned forward eagerly, hoping now that she may have found someone who knew him when he lived here. "He...he has a facial deformity, ma'am. One so bad he wears a mask at all times to hide it. He was born that way. That is my teacher...you would never mistake him for another! He is a very unique man," she said with obvious pride in her voice, "but...well, I was hoping you could tell me something about him. I know so little."

The old matron was still surprised at hearing about a boy she'd often wondered about over the years. "Why not just ask him yourself, young woman?"

Christine picked up her tea and took a small sip. "Because there are many things he refuses to talk about, and this place is one of them. Please. I need to know more about him."

Mrs. Guthrie sat back in a chair upholstered in badly faded brocade. "I always wondered what happened to that poor boy. He left here, oh...must be close to thirty years ago. I was on duty when the old Frenchwoman first brought him here. He was just an infant." She shook her head in remembrance. "Poor little mite. His face was a sight, it was."

"Frenchwoman?"

The old matron nodded. "She left him here, telling the head matron that the baby's mother had died in childbirth, and there was no one else. She said she was too old and sick to care for him. I thought she was too old and drunk myself." she said dryly.

She looked into the distorted window of her memories...the days long gone in the silt of decades. She looked up at Christine, switching her view with some difficulty back to the present. "Tell me about him. Is he well?"

She wasn't going to reveal Erik's breakdown over three months ago, but she _did_ want the old matron to know of his genius. "He became a great teacher, Mrs. Guthrie. He's also a master violinist...you would be thrilled at the beauty he commands from it. He's the most wonderful pianist, and his voice can leave one in tears, it's that beautiful!"

"Ah! He was very good on the piano from a young age. I should know...I taught him myself."

Now it was Christine's turn to be surprised. "_You_ taught him, ma'am?"

Mrs. Guthrie smiled faintly at her. "Yes. I play quite well, or did before my hands became gnarled and mostly useless. I taught Erik on the old upright in the common room when he was...um, five or so...it's still there by the way. He was a sponge, that boy was. So smart and eager to learn. It wasn't very long before he surpassed me. He could even write his own music and it was very good for a child. In fact, I still have some of his compositions if you'd care to see them." She thought a moment. "Actually, you may take them with you. Yes, give them back to their rightful owner. That's just one reason why what happened was such a tragedy."

Christine set her teacup down, and leaned forward. "What _did_ happen to him?"

"He approached some of the older boys one afternoon. He only wanted to play baseball with them. Erik was a loner, Miss Daae. I'm sure you understand why. The other children saw him as an oddity, and many were frightened of him. He was smart as a whip, and _that_ didn't endear him to anyone either.

"He'd fashioned himself a mask out of some sacking...he thought it would make himself more acceptable to everyone, but unfortunately it didn't. There were..." she paused, perhaps remembering a small boy's confusion and hurt at his isolation, "incidences where some of the older boys would attack him for no reason...they were usually caught before it went too far, but it was never one against one. I think they were afraid to fight him fairly...he would give as good as he got. The boys were severely punished for their attacks on Erik. But you must understand, Miss Daae, that some of these children came to us with huge chips on their shoulders, and if a few of them got together, they became very brave and at the same time...very stupid. I kept him as close to me as possible, but he craved the friendship of his peers more than anything, and I couldn't forbid him not to try.

"He was shunned, but he had courage aplenty, and he kept trying." She shook her head sadly. "Well, he did until the day they beat him so badly."

Christine felt the angry tears in her eyes...she was always close to tears anymore it seemed. "They beat him for only wanting to _play_ with them?" She looked at the old matron accusingly. "Where were _you_ that day? Why would anyone let a little boy be beaten like that?"

"Back then, Miss Daae, we had nearly a hundred children in this pile of stone. And not nearly enough help. They could have killed him, but one of the other matrons put a stop to it. He was unconscious for a while...the boys who beat him were older and much larger than Erik. They took that sacking off of his head, and the matron said those boys went into a frenzy when they saw his face. He was knocked out cold and there was so much blood, Theresa thought he was dead. Three nights later, he was gone from here; ran away and I've always wondered..." She looked at Christine with bright eyes. "You say he taught you voice? Where?"

Christine was silent for a moment, her mind still filled with the ghastly image of a small boy being pummeled for something he couldn't help. But this was only a portion of his life...what other horrors had he faced alone? She finally looked up at the old woman with angry tears still clinging to her lashes. "St. Joseph, ma'am. He's wonderful! Once you've heard him play the piano or...or the organ; well, you won't soon forget. And his voice is absolute _heaven_..." She stopped, embarrassed and looked away.

Mrs. Guthrie had been watching the girl closely while she talked, and with no small amount of surprise said, "You're in love with him, aren't you? Miss Daae, please don't get me wrong...but have _you_ seen Erik's face?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes to both questions. I do love him, and I most certainly have seen his face. I-It's startling, isn't it? she said with a shudder, recalling him tearing at it with his nails in a frenzy of self-loathing. Christine caught the look the matron gave her and hastened to explain. "The first time I saw beneath the mask h-he was very upset. I'm sure you realize what that would mean. He _can_ be frightening, but his face doesn't change my feelings for him. I hope you can believe that ma'am."

"Oh, but I do believe you, Miss Daae. I can tell simply by watching you speak of him."

"H-He's not an easy man to know. The persecution didn't end with this place, but he learned very well how to defend himself." She looked unseeingly around the room. "So well in fact, that _he_ became the hunter, Mrs. Guthrie. But his past has made him a haunted man," and unbidden, she saw his bloody face, eyes red and near mad.

"H-He's away at the moment on an extended trip, but I so look forward to his return."

Mrs. Guthrie nodded her head. "I'm glad. The tragedy all those years ago was the potential of that boy, Miss Daae. It wasn't just his face that was so very different." She regarded Christine thoughtfully. "I've spent most of my life observing children, seeing them come and go. Odd, wouldn't you say, that I can remember one so vividly? He loved to learn, that one. Whether it was how the dumbwaiter operated, or the barn cat giving birth, he wanted to know the particulars. I truly believed then, that he could become a great man if people would be a little more accepting of him."

Christine felt that as well. She often watched her maestro, thinking that there lived an entirely different man somewhere inside of him...a kinder one, filled with a sweetness and compassion that unfortunately had not been allowed to grow. His personality had sought to protect itself, and instead had covered his heart with a thick shell against all hurt. But she had through time, caught glimpses of the real man. How else to explain this deep love she felt for him now? For he hadn't always gone out of his way to earn it, but apparently the heart seeks and does the choosing. Hers was sore and full of yearning, but she nevertheless smiled through it.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Guthrie. I truly appreciate it."

"Nonsense! I should be thanking you, Miss Daae. To hear that little Erik carved out a life of his own, and found love along the way, has truly meant a lot to me." She stood up and smiled kindly at her. "Would you care to see where he learned to play?"

Christine was having some difficulty wrapping her mind around the image of a _little_ Erik. She grinned to herself wondering what Mrs. Guthrie would think after standing beside him now. Little Erik indeed!

"Maybe you've wondered at the silence of this place? Well...it's no longer an orphanage," she said, as she led Christine through the dim and vaulted rooms of the old institution. "It closed its doors six months ago. Too old and decrepit to maintain it..." She sighed gently. "Much like me, I suppose. They've built a new one on the other side of town. I'm the caretaker here, along with Matilda and old Toby, our handyman, until they decide what they want to do with it."

She led her to the second floor and into a large room covered in dust sheets. The most attractive thing about the room was a bank of casement windows. They looked out onto a sweep of lawn, overgrown now with brown weeds and out of control English ivy which had established a foot-hold on a wooden shed, nearly smothering one side and its only window. A carriage house was obviously still in use; the doors were open, and she could see at least one horse inside the shadowy interior.

The old lady swept the cover off of an ancient and worn upright piano, disturbing dust so very fine, that it could be seen hovering in the gloomy light from the windows. The ivory keys were smoothed and worn from many fingers over the years. _Erik's_ fingers, she thought, and she could almost see the young boy he had been...perhaps too small for his feet to reach the pedals, but in his element nonetheless. And she felt a fierce wave of longing for him, and the feeling wouldn't leave her. She depressed the C note and went up the scale, wincing at how off key it sounded. She stood looking down at the keyboard and seeing in her mind's eye, long slender fingers, strong and clever, super-imposed over a child's much shorter ones just beginning to learn.

"Mrs. Guthrie? What happens to this piano if they tear the orphanage down?" An idea had started to form, and it caught hold quickly.

The former matron set the cover aside, and looked at the piano with dubious eyes. "Well, it's not much use to anyone anymore. It's very old and out of tune." She sighed and said finally. "Firewood, I should think."

Before she could lose her nerve, she spoke the words. "May I have it?" When the old woman didn't say anything, she hastened on. "I-I'll pay you whatever you think it's worth. I assure you I can, Mrs. Guthrie." Then she applied what she could only hope was the coup de gras. "I would like to give it to Erik," and she watched her hopefully.

She nodded once. "It's yours then. And I can't think of a more fitting home for it. He made those keys tell stories."

Christine thanked her effusively, and Mrs. Guthrie asked her to wait while she went to her room. She came back with the yellowed pages of Erik's very first music compositions, then walked to the door with the younger woman. "The piano will be here when you're ready for it." She snorted in disgust. "The wheels of city government turn very slowly. This place will probably still be here long after I'm gone. I've enjoyed your visit very much, Miss Daae. Especially hearing about Erik."

She put out her hand and Christine took it, squeezing it gently. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart, ma'am. For your kindness to me...and to my teacher all those years ago. I think I understand him a little better now."

"Will you come back and sit a while with an old woman? And perhaps bring Erik with you?" she said with hope tingeing her voice.

"I'd like that, ma'am. I'll be back, and...maybe someday he'll come too."

She opened her umbrella and stepped back into the chill rain with a shiver. She could never get warm enough with the constant downpours. Talking about her maestro with Mrs. Guthrie had made him seem closer than he'd been in months. But the vision conjured up from the old woman's words, was of a lonely little boy wanting just to be included in a child's game. Her heart bled for him, then _and_ now as she dodged the puddles back to the conservatory. She could only hope and wish for his safe return to St. Joe and soon, but by the end of the month, _she_ was the one going home.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Nadir met her at the train station in the buggy she'd spent so much time driving. She gave him a big hug, so happy to see him, then she went over to Figaro and patted the gelding with affection. "How are _you_, my fine fellow?"

The Persian helped her in and they set off for home. He looked at her, noticing shrewdly, the hollow cheeks and shadows on her thin face, but said nothing, for he well knew what was eating at her.

"Young de Chagny has been a comfort to his mother since his father passed away. And so has Meg. She helps her mother in the mornings and sits with Mrs. de Chagny in the afternoons. That's why I told Hannah I'd come and fetch you myself."

He looked at her with sympathetic eyes, and said gently. "She has her hands full with your aunt, Christine. She's not doing very well."

She looked at him swiftly, realizing what he was saying. "S-She's not going to get any better, is she?"

The Persian glanced over at her and said quietly. "I fear not. I've sent a telegram to Erik, telling him of your return home. Hopefully he'll get it." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Have courage, dear child," for she'd suddenly felt the grief and worry of the past few months running head on into the unknown of today and her eyes filled with tears.

Nadir seeing this, cursed his friend. _Damn you, Erik!_ _Why are you doing this?_ But he knew why. He'd viewed Christine's accusations as a betrayal of sorts, and Erik was not normal in regards to the give and take of male/female relationships. How could he be? He'd never been in one before. The Persian had no doubts of where his friend's heart lay though; he knew very well how much Erik adored this girl beside him.

"He's been slowly making his way back to the Missouri border. For the past few weeks, he's been heading in this direction. Back to you." He patted her hands resting in her lap. "You do not wait in vain, child. He _will_ return to you."

"I miss him so much, Nadir. I would give anything to go back to that day and start over. And Aunt Edna. I can't imagine losing her."

She looked at the trees in bud, and the creamy white blooms of the dogwood trees scattered here and there in the woods on each side of the road. Life renewing itself after the dormancy of winter, but her heart was heavy at the thought of her aunt so sick. Suddenly she felt the need to hurry, and grew impatient that they weren't home yet.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered, staring at the broad back of the gelding. "I'm losing everyone I love."

He said nothing, knowing she required no answer.

They rode in silence for a while, then to pass the time, she asked him about something which had bothered her. She told him about her visit with the old matron. "When Erik first arrived at the orphanage, it was an old Frenchwoman who took him there. Do you know anything about that?"

This question startled the Persian. "Ah, no. No I don't. You'll have to ask him, but I doubt if he knows much either." Which was not true, Allah forgive him, but it was not his place to give Christine his friend's history. That dubious honor belonged to Erik alone.

She saw his discomfort at the question and dropped the subject. "The opera house. How is everything there?"

"Oh it's moving along all right...we've giving occasional evenings of classical music...Beethoven...Mozart, showcasing the orchestra. Right now they're rehearsing a repeat performance of The Marriage of Figaro."

She continued chatting about the theatre and school, searching desperately for something to keep her mind off of Edna. When they arrived home, she hopped out as quick as she could in her long skirts, and hurried into the house to see her aunt. Hannah gave her a hug and looked her over carefully.

"You look a little pale, Christine. And why aren't you eating? You're so thin!"

She laughed, but Hannah wasn't fooled. The young woman had much with which to contend; her aunt's illness was weighing on her mind, and for months now she'd been distraught, tirelessly waiting for Erik.

"If one more person tells me I don't look well, I'm going to get a little testy." she joked. "How's my aunt, Hannah?"

"Frettin' to see you. I'm real glad you're here, Christine. Real glad."

"Has Josephine been notified yet?"

The housekeeper sighed heavily. "She's due any day now to have that baby. She _can't_ come. Doc Pierce said this fever mostly affects the very young and the older folks, but he said women in the family way should avoid those that are sick."

"Christine!" Meg came hurrying down the hallway from the kitchen, a tired smile on her face.

The two friends hugged, and Christine pulled back and said, "Nadir tells me you've been wonderful with Raoul's mother."

Meg blushed. "It's the least I could do. It's been bad around here, Christine. First Granny Beasley, then Sarah's youngest caught the fever and died, and now Mr. de Chagny. It's awful, and now you're..." She stopped and looked at her mother, who was frowning heavily at her.

"Christine wants to see her aunt, Meg. You two can catch up later." Meg nodded and gave her friend a quick hug, then went back to the kitchen, and Hannah led the way upstairs.

She entered her aunt's darkened bedchamber, and when she approached the bed, she was shocked at how small and wasted she appeared. She bent over and took one of her bird-like hands, feeling the wrinkled skin and brittle bones.

"Auntie? Auntie, it's Christine." she whispered.

She watched the movement of her eyes beneath the thin lids, and with a sense of unease, she heard the labored breathing and noted the fever bright skin of her face.

"Aunt Edna? Please. I'm here now." She gently squeezed her hand, and was rewarded when her aunt opened bleary eyes and looked at her niece.

"Christine? My dearest child..." She wheezed painfully and her breath hitched. "Sit. Sit...with me."

She nodded at Hannah and she whispered back. "I'm going down and fix some lunch, then I'll sit with her while you wash up and eat a bite. You're too..."

"Yes, I know. Too thin," but she smiled wanly at the housekeeper, and with a shake of her head, Hannah left the room.

She sat with her aunt into the afternoon, repeatedly sponging her off with cool water while she dozed fitfully, and when Edna complained of the aching in her joints, she applied liniment to them. When Hannah came in with the doctor, she shooed Christine out of the room.

"Lunch is ready. Eat something and rest a while."

She sat at the kitchen table with Meg, and the two friend's got caught up on the latest news.

"Raoul's been wonderful, Christine! He brings the buggy round in the afternoons, and takes me to his house and we sit with his mother. And sometimes when she has other visitors, Raoul and I go for walks.

Christine had never seen Meg so happy. She was glad for her and told her so.

"I know you are. And I know I have you to thank for pushing him in my direction. I just hope that it all works out for you too."

And to that, Christine could say nothing.

After she washed and freshened up, she returned to her aunt's room and sat down in the chair beside her bed, cringing at the sound of her harsh breathing. Occasionally, the older woman would carry on conversations with people long dead, and once she heard her mother's name mentioned. But mostly she talked with her husband Matthew, exhorting him to stop snoring, or not to forget the items from town she needed. And Edna's absent daughter, Josephine was once again a young girl in her feverish mind, reliving the golden years of her daughter's youth. Finally around five o'clock, she'd turned her head toward Christine...and become lucid once more.

"Your teacher, Christine. Have you seen him lately?"

She was startled by the question, caught off guard by the mention of the one person she longed for with a constant and steady ache. "Ah...no, Auntie. Not for a long while now."

Edna was silent for a moment, and Christine assumed she was asleep. "He came to see me once, you know. Said he wanted to court you with the intention of marriage."

"When?" she said in surprise. "What did you tell him, Aunt?"

Edna moved restlessly on the pillow, her eyes feeling very heavy. "When? Well...it was...it was just before your last visit home. "Yes. I remember now. I told him you were too young. I still think that way. But...but I know...I know..." She struggled with her breathing, and tried to sit up, her face appearing shrunken, the blue of her eyes faded, and Christine reached behind her and raised her up on the pillows. The young woman was once again shocked at the lightweight feel of her aunt in her arms, as if the life force within her was slowly dissipating, leaving a dry husk in her stead.

Edna reached blindly for her niece's hand. "No one could ever love you more than he does. I realize that now." She was quiet for so long, Christine thought she'd gone to sleep.

"Do you love _him_, Christine?" It was said in a clear voice and her hope was renewed that her aunt would recover from this. "I'm so very tired, dear." she said fretfully. "But I-I must know. _Do _you?"

"Yes."

"You can never love de Chagny?"

"No."

Her aunt's hand trembled within Christine's grasp. "My...blessing, child. You...You...have it."

She held on to her aunt's frail hand, while the older woman went into an uneasy sleep. "I love you, Auntie." she said softly, and sat there with her into the night, until Hannah sent her off to bed.

Those were her days for the next several. Edna spent more of her time asleep, and her wakeful moments were spent in talking with her dead sister and husband, followed by whole conversations with her absent daughter. The fever was consuming her, and she had no strength left with which to fight it. The doctor informed them that the unremitting high fever could send her into convulsions. The two women sponged her down with cool water tirelessly, nearly having to force liquids into her, while Christine fought off a lethargy trying its best to drag her down into the waiting arms of self-pity.

She dreamed of _him_. They were sitting on the large rock in the clearing, and Erik had pulled her into his arms. She put a hand to the cheek of his mask. "I've missed you so much." He said nothing, but tipped her chin up and kissed her, forcing her lips apart and deepening the kiss as she tried to bring his thin body closer, her arms circling around to his back and holding him tight. He trailed his lips down her neck, nipping at the base of her throat, and she moaned in delight, as his tongue replaced his teeth. His hand had dropped to her breast and she clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, happy at long last.

He cupped her face in his hands and stared hard into her eyes, his a warm amber...just as she remembered them. "You must not give up, darling girl. Do you understand?"

"No...I don't. Kiss me again." and she started to put her arms back around him, but he gave her a shake.

"_Listen_ to me! You must fight. Tell me you understand, Christine!"

Frightened and confused, she wished only to please him. "Yes. Yes...I understand," not understanding at all.

He pulled her close and she put her arms around him gratefully, her cheek against his. "I'm so glad you're here. So glad," but with a cry, her joy began to dissipate when she felt him beginning to pull away from her.

He squeezed her hand. "Remember what I said."

"No." she cried, as panic set in. He was becoming less substantial, just as smoke will when hit by a stiff breeze, the loving weight of him in her arms slipping away, and she cried out in disappointment.

"Where are you going? Come back!" she begged him, but his beloved form shimmered, appearing less dense, and like fog burning off in bright sunshine, he was gone.

Those nights of dreams left her unsettled, and she would get out of bed and sit in the chair by the window, legs drawn up beneath her. She watched the dark tower room, willing the light on and a tall figure to be standing there. In her hands she held his black mask...the very one she picked up that night from the floor of the unfinished solarium. She would hold it to her cheek, her soul blindly reaching out for his. "Come home. Please come home to me. I need you." she whispered.

One bright and sunny morning, Hannah sent her out to the carriage house to get the horse liniment for Edna's aching joints. It was a home remedy that many in St. Joe followed, and strangely enough, it provided some relief. Christine that morning had not eaten much for breakfast, but this time it didn't have anything to do with lack of appetite. She'd been queasy from the moment she'd arisen.

She walked out to the carriage house, feeling hot and achy, her steps slowing until the short trip began to feel as though it were miles away, instead of just a short distance. She shook her head, and gasped at the sharp pain it engendered. She could see the double image of the wide wooden doors just ahead of her. Feeling dizzy, she staggered to the bench in the grape arbor and sat down heavily...feeling weak as a newborn kitten. Just for a minute...she would rest just for a moment, _then_ she could make it to the carriage house. She scrunched her eyes shut against the harsh sunlight...her head hurt so!

Hannah found her slumped over on the bench, shaking with chills. She had Meg go for Nadir and he carried a semi-conscious Christine up to her room.

Late in the afternoon, he was sending another telegram to the masked man, hoping he would get it in time.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N**** Warning. Some coarse language and a brief sexual situation.**

He dismounted and knelt down to study the faint tracks left by the horse and rider. Well, two now. He had the young girl with him, and Erik was constantly pressing him to keep moving. He didn't want to allow the man time to get at the girl, but he damned well knew, it was doubtful if she was even still alive. He stood up and walked back to the mare, and grabbing his canteen, took a long drink. He looked at what was in front of him, noting the rising hills nearly ten miles to the south, and thought that to be a likely destination for the former cavalry scout turned killer. The man he was pursuing had ridden in a wide circle, trying to throw off anyone in pursuit, and was once more, a day's ride outside of Dodge.

His latest bounty was a civilian scout from the army post at the near-by fort. Frank Tucker had disappeared from the post one evening after a double murder had been discovered in the officer's quarters; E Company's captain and his pretty young wife were found dead, the officer stabbed repeatedly and his wife strangled to death. The murdered woman had once been linked romantically with Frank Tucker, but after an argument with him, she had ended their relationship. But apparently Tucker hadn't wished it to end. A witness had seen him running from the home covered in blood.

As if the killings had opened a flood-gate, he proceeded to rampage against the unsuspecting inhabitants in the area, stealing whatever he could and killing whoever got in his way, until the army plus the local law put up a substantial reward, dead or alive. Which was fine with Erik, for he preferred the former condition rather than the latter. A body flung over the back of a horse was much easier to travel with than a live one plotting ways to kill the hunter and escape.

So far the search for the killer had turned up nothing but dead bodies. Erik had been on his way to Dodge to secure passage for him and the mare home, when Tucker's wanted poster tacked to a tree outside the little town of Enid caught his eye. Listening to the talk near the saloon, he'd discovered that the killer had made it to a small spread a few miles outside of Dodge City, where the farmer visiting with neighbors had returned home to find the place ransacked, and his fourteen year old daughter missing. The trail was still relatively fresh, and the masked man had wasted no time in following it.

That was five days ago, and his quarry was not so very far ahead of him now, and whether the girl was still alive was anyone's guess. He led the mare to the watering hole and let her drink, while he replenished his canteen. This bounty was personal to him. A young and innocent girl taken from her home by force, was only a small leap to what Christine had endured nearly a year ago, and he would do his best to catch the killer. It was unusual but not unheard of to be chasing a bounty who'd kidnapped a woman, but the taking of a young girl was, and the killer's intentions could only mean trouble.

But the pull to return home had been so strong, he'd almost turned back once. He'd made camp for the night, and tired, leaned back against his saddle. His eyes had grown heavy, and with the comforting warmth of the fire beside him, let sleep pull him down into Christine's willing arms. He pressed a lingering kiss on her lips, sliding his hungry mouth down her throat, always delighted when she pulled him closer and answered _his _passion with her own. She groaned, but this time he knew at once, it wasn't from pleasure. Her arms which had been curled sweetly around his neck, were shaking uncontrollably, becoming weak... unable to hold on to him, and she started to slip away. Frightened, he tried to get a good look at her face but she was annoyingly diaphanous, and he merely struggled in vain to see her. Panicked, he'd grasped at her arms and pleaded with her to stay with him, but she became even less substantial much to soon...only a loving memory until he was holding tightly to absolutely nothing. He'd awakened with a start, an unsettled feeling of imminent disaster so strong in him, that he'd saddled the mare, ready to leave before first light. And finally came to his senses. Only a dream, he snorted. That's all.

His need to be with _her_ again was nearly overwhelming and it was showing up in his dreams...nothing more than that, so he stoically fought it down, wanting to make this last hunt meaningful. _She _would be proud of him for doing so.

He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, studying the low rocky hills in the distance once more, thinking it would make an ideal spot for an ambush. He mounted his horse and turned her slightly to the west, intent on trying another approach. It would be dangerous to go in the front door; Tucker would be expecting that, therefore he would come to the back door and try for surprise.

As he rode, his thoughts naturally went back to Christine. He was going home soon. After he collected this last bounty, he would take the train back to her and accept anything she was willing to give him. Pride be damned...any terms she wished to make he would abide by, and if she wanted to pity him, so be it.

He had been gone from St. Joseph only a few days when he realized the terrible cost he'd paid in leaving her, but instead of turning back he'd continued further west. He'd needed time...time to find something inside of himself that was better than the madman he'd become that awful night, and so he kept moving further and further away from her. But not forever. He knew very well what anguish he had caused her at his loss of control, judging by her horrified stare. He needed to go back and find out once and for all if she did indeed love him. The thought that she didn't...was terrifying.

He held her in his arms every night...he wasn't quite as lonely when he thought of his love, and dreamed he was holding her close. He talked often with her as well...whole conversations in his head. Once, trailing a trio of men who'd robbed the stage outside Kiowa, he'd been so immersed in thoughts of Christine, he'd let his guard down. A rifle shot brought him out of his reverie, and his horse crow hopped before she actively tried bucking him off. She was in a rage, twisting in the air and kicking with both hind legs, until she unseated him and sent him flying. It wasn't the first time he'd been thrown, but it had been years. The landing jolted him badly, and he'd picked himself up hurriedly, limping on a banged up knee while two more shots were fired, kicking up the dust around him. Swearing viciously, he found some cover, pulling the recalcitrant mare after him.

He continued his one-sided conversation with Christine while bending low, and leading the mare behind a small rocky hill. "Ha! You nearly got your Erik killed today, my darling! You must stay out of his head while he's working, you understand."

The bullet had creased the horse's right haunch. It was no doubt a painful wound, but not serious. He'd circled round the three men, and caught them congratulating themselves on stopping him. He dispatched them quickly and arrived a day later in Kiowa to collect the bounties on their heads.

That night he recalled what he'd been thinking about just before the first shot had been fired. His mind never strayed far from the girl, and he'd remembered their last time together, and how horrible he'd been to her. But something else had occurred to him that had the power of a revelation. She had been jealous. His Christine cared enough for him to be jealous of another woman. Unfounded of course, but there just the same. Strangely, the knowledge comforted him and gave him hope.

As the days turned into weeks, he couldn't stop his mind from thinking about her and yearning to be with the young woman once again. She was pleading with him through Nadir Khan to come home, and he wanted to do just that with all of his heart. But in those earlier days, his mind had been fragile, and a part of him was still angry that she'd had so little faith in him. The pity he'd seen in her blue eyes still had the power to make him writhe with shame.

A sorry thing indeed to have the woman he adored viewing him in the very same way others had many years ago. An animal who deserved nothing but careless pity and contempt, staring out from the bars of his cage. He'd been trying to forget for so long, and with Christine, he'd considered a normal life possible, for she had treated him with nothing but respect, and after a rocky start...friendship. She had seen him as simply a man and allowed him to touch her. _Kiss_ her. He wanted much more, and he'd even had the temerity to think she did too. But the day she accused him of betrayal ended all of that, and brought his carefully erected house of dreams crashing down upon his head.

He had ridden far beyond Missouri and deep into Kansas, chasing bounties as far away as Coffeyville and Kiowa on the Kansas/Oklahoma border. And he had done well, his rage spurring him on, and those he caught died painfully at his hard unforgiving hands. Hands which had touched _her_ with gentleness. But gradually his sanity had returned, and his love for her had become a steady unremitting ache...a constant companion of his until he could no longer stand it, and turned the mare toward home. Back to Christine.

The Persian kept him informed of all that took place with her from talking with Hannah. He was also aware of her activities in St. Louis...knew that she stayed close to the conservatory, only occasionally being seen with the boy, for he hadn't called off the tail he paid to keep her safe. But his last telegram had been in Coffeyville, and the last wire from St. Louis...or St. Joseph for that matter. He had ridden far from any towns, and he was eager for some news from home.

Home. It still felt odd to think of _any_ place as belonging to him, but he well knew that wherever _she_ was, he intended to be also. He would go back and throw himself at her feet. But first he would get the young girl back. And he would do it for Christine as well as for the girl.

He rode on through the afternoon stopping every so often to water the mare, but finally as the shadows grew longer and the boulders which from far away had appeared small were now the size of houses, he dismounted and led the mare to some trees. He removed his spurs, needing the element of surprise to come up on the ex-scout, and loosened the girth on Moriah.

"You will wait here quietly, yes?" He patted her neck, and grabbed his rifle from the scabbard. If he could get a long shot at Tucker, he would do it and put a quick end to this. He started his climb through the rocks, following an old deer track, and with any luck, he would come up behind and take him from the rear. But this one was smarter than most he'd chased and he couldn't be sure. Daylight had been leached from the sky, and already some stars had appeared, when his keen ears picked up the faint sounds ahead of him. He had climbed upward between the rocks being careful to keep as quiet as possible, and watching his footing all the while. One misstep and and it could very well mean a broken bone or even a broken neck.

He started down the other side of the hill when he caught the smell of smoke. He heard a male voice spiraling into anger, and the cries of the girl. Against his better judgement he began to run, pulling his revolver out as he went.

The man had backhanded the young girl, all the while carrying on an angry diatribe with her. He picked out the name Eleanor and his eyes swept the girl swiftly, noting her torn dress and bruised face, realizing he'd probably not arrived in time to prevent her ravishment. He quickly studied his adversary from the safety of darkness. He knew he could get a shot at him from that position, but the girl was close by, and he didn't want to take even the slightest chance of hitting her instead. So from the cover of the rocks, he set his rifle down quietly and holstered his gun.

He threw his voice to just behind the man. "Tucker! Give it up. You're surrounded!"

The man caught by surprise, spun in a tight circle to face this threat and Erik launched himself from the rocks, barreling into him, and both hitting the ground hard.

Erik was the first to recover, his deadly lasso in hand, and getting his legs under him, he moved to slip it around the killer's neck, but Tucker was fast also, and back on his feet almost instantly. Instead he grabbed a handful of Tucker's shirt, and landed a solid blow to the man's mouth, quickly following with another jab, his knuckles bruising from the impact. Bleeding profusely, the man nevertheless shook the cobwebs out of his head, and went into a fighting stance, registering briefly, the black mask and yellow eyes of his opponent. Strange as the man appeared, he felt no fear. Not yet. He judged the thin man easy to take down and would enjoy doing it. He intended to rip him apart.

Erik watched him carefully, and didn't miss the flash of a blade when the man pulled the curved knife out of the sheath on his hip. Frank Tucker surprised him. He was a handsome man, tall and well built, but what interested him the most, was the gleam of intelligence that shone from his deep-set hazel eyes...that, and something with which Erik was very familiar. Madness. He wondered what had led Tucker down the path he'd just taken. So very different from his own circumstances..._he_ had been required to fight for his very existence, for many had considered him an abomination and better off dead. But _this_ man would appear to have had everything needed for a good life and squandered it.

In only a few moments as they studied each other carefully, it became much clearer to Erik what had broken his mind, and started him on his rampage. In an odd way, he could empathize...hadn't _he_ been lost for a while in the tortured wanderings of his mind? Haunted by a love impossible to forget? The only difference had been that Tucker had slaughtered the innocent, while he had the blessing of the law to quench _his_ rage.

"I don't know _what_ the hell you are, but you're going to wish you'd never interfered with my business." Tucker spat.

"And your _business_ is the rape of a child?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your worst nightmare."

"You know nothing of my nightmares. _You _don't even come close."

"But very soon I think I can convince you otherwise."

To which Tucker laughed. "You?" he said dismissively. "The only thing scary about you is how plug ugly you are."

They circled each other warily, each looking for an opening.

"Hard for you to find someone to fuck, hiding your face that way. But this woman is mine...go find your own, you shit."

Erik smiled coldly, not at all fazed by the killer's words. "Woman? I see no _woman_ here. Just a child that had to endure the brutal touch of a beast masquerading as a man. And I'm going to kill you for her."

"What for?" He looked at the weeping girl on the ground. "She's no different from any other bitch! Lie to a man's face and treat him like dirt! _She_ swore she loved me, but the minute I leave her alone, she married that cockroach from E Company and spread her legs for him." He'd begun crying and Erik had a pretty good idea now of what had happened.

"_Why_, Ellie?" Tucker cried, seeing the pretty brown haired girl who loved to laugh and go on picnics...the very same girl who had promised she loved only him, but she had been false. She had waited for him to leave for a few days, and then married someone else, and it hadn't mattered at all to him that she'd said it was over between them. He had told her repeatedly that the girl in the saloon meant nothing to him...nothing at all. He'd had an itch to scratch and the saloon gal fit the bill nicely. But Eleanor saw it differently than he did.

She couldn't just leave him like that...he wouldn't allow it, and she had paid dearly for turning her back on him. Funny though, he thought wearily. Killing her and that bastard she professed to love more than he, hadn't made _him_ feel any better. On the contrary, he only felt worse. Nor had taking this girl from her home. She looked very similar to Eleanor...same coloring and build; for a while, he could even pretend it was his Ellie, but deep down he'd known the difference. Of course he did...hadn't he strangled Eleanor with his bare hands, her face turning purple and the animation leaving her face? But oh, it hadn't stopped him from having the farm wench. He continued watching the strange man in front of him, shaking his head in agitation when it suddenly became Eleanor's face he was seeing, and he screamed in terror.

"Leave me alone! You hear me, Ellie?" he sobbed. "For God's sake, let me be!"

"You killed the captain and your former lover in a jealous rage, Tucker, but this child did nothing wrong. I don't know, nor do I care what perceived hurt pushed you to murder and rape, but your killing spree is over and death awaits."

Still wallowing in his sorrow and confusion, Tucker lunged at him and Erik sidestepped easily, bringing a fist up and into the side of his head. Tucker rolled, and swaying dizzily, nevertheless bounded to his feet. Enraged, he brought both fisted hands up, snapping them under Erik's chin, cutting the corner of his mouth and forcing him backward. His knife flashed and painfully caught the Phantom in the side, but before it could penetrate far and do much damage, the masked man raised a booted foot and shoved it hard into Tucker's chest. The man fought to stay on his feet, but hit the ground and skidded backward. Erik was quickly on him, the lasso in his hands and around Tucker's throat before he could react.

The former scout fought with a dogged determination to force the masked man away, but he had underestimated his foe, thinking him an easy adversary until it was too late. The Phantom tightened the noose, forcing the killer's face up to his burning gaze. Blood ran from the corner of Erik's torn mouth, and his side was beginning to burn painfully from the knife wound. Nevertheless, just before the lasso tightened and brought death, he fixed his glowing eyes on his final bounty.

Tucker looked at him with pleading eyes. "Kill me. P-Please." He licked suddenly dry lips. "I'm tired of seeing her face. Kill me."

"Oh, I intend to. Killing the woman you once loved, has already sent you to Hell,"and with a graceful twist of the Punjab, the killer's neck snapped. Lowering the body to the ground, he removed the lasso. Standing to his full height, he pulled a kerchief from his pocket, and unbuttoning his shirt, pressed it over the bloody slash wound in his side. He went over and picked up his hat from the ground, knocked off in the fight and put it on, straightening his mask at the same time. Then he approached the young girl slowly, and knelt down to where she was curled up on her side, shaking uncontrollably. She saw him coming and whimpered, trying to get away from him.

"I won't hurt you, girl. I've come to take you back to your father." He used his most soothing voice, calming her gradually, until he was able to examine her a bit, judging the injuries the killer had inflicted on her. Bruises and cuts that would heal, but the worst damage was something that was unseen and harder to treat. Her innocence had been taken from her, along with most of her trust. He grabbed a blanket lying nearby and covered the girl with it, then silently handed her a canteen of water. Her hand shook as she took it from him, seeming to notice his mask and oddly lit eyes for the first time. She stared warily at him, sucking in a sharp breath at his strangeness, then put the canteen to her lips.

He studied her while she drank. "What's your name?"

Her head remained down, and she said nothing, refusing to look at him again. After a sip of water, she handed it back to him and curled up on the ground. She was brown haired and sturdily built, with large brown eyes full of pain and fright.

"You'd be warmer by the fire, you know." He watched her a moment more, then went back to the body, and taking some rope from his duster, he tied the dead killer's hands and feet together, and readied him for the trip back to Dodge, then dragged him away from the fire. He would tie the body on his horse at first light, and then they would leave this place.

He rummaged through the man's things, finding very little worth anything, especially in light of all the people he'd butchered. He found some molasses cookies wrapped in a fairly clean napkin, and offered them to the girl, who never looked up at him. He placed the cookies near her hand, then went and sat by the fire.

Glancing once at her, he began singing, O nuit divine! Je t'implore, reaching out to the young girl the only way he knew how. The girl listened, feeling calmer just from the man's voice. She liked hearing him. It made her think of finer things...beauty instead of ugliness...love, instead of grasping, greedy hands, and...

She watched him through slitted eyes, wondering briefly who her rescuer was and where he came from. Surprisingly, she wasn't afraid of him even though he looked scary. Very tall and thin, dressed in black and wearing a mask. She _should _be afraid, but strangely enough, she trusted him. He had been kind to her in an abrupt way. She listened to his pretty voice, relaxing a little bit more.

He sang in his beautiful dramatic tenor, raising his eyes to the heavens, wishing with all of his heart, that he was with Christine, for he missed her with a fierce ache. Maybe he was still a bit mad, for he often heard her bell tones in his inner ear...she sang him to sleep some nights. The last time he'd sung O nuit divine!, it was with _her_, the afternoon she'd given him his very first gift...the cravat pin.

"I'll be home soon, dear girl. Just a little longer now." he whispered to the night sky.

He sat there in the quiet of the darkness, watching the fire, waiting for daybreak, and then they would start back to Dodge. He would take the train home and get there in a little over nine hours, for he was nearly 350 miles from St. Joseph. The thought of seeing her again after all these months filled him with a tremendous longing, and he willed the night to go faster so he could be with her once more.

"Why do you wear a mask?" The words were soft and hesitant.

He continued staring at the fire and feeding it small sticks. "I must, you see. I am so dashing you would be unable to do more than stare at my handsome face."

She said nothing for a long while. "W-Why, mister? Why did he do that to me?"

He heard a soft sob from the girl and he looked at her finally. "Because there are those who enjoy preying on others. They delight in removing dignity and making those weaker, grovel."

She stared at him with eyes full of shame and lost innocence, something he was very familiar with himself. He sighed wearily, knowing he could do nothing to get those precious moments back for her.

"Listen to me, child." His strange eyes bored into hers, and she couldn't look away even if her very life depended on it. "_You_ are not at fault here." He nodded to where the killer lay beyond the fire. "He was, and I killed him for you. Go and live a long, happy life."

Wrapped in the blanket, she got stiffly to her feet, and crept closer to the fire, sitting down carefully across from him. She stared into the flames, hunching closer to the warmth, and unwrapped the cookies he'd given her. Taking a bite, she held the napkin out offering him one, to which he shook his head.

She looked dully at him, her face discolored from bruises and a cut on her lip. "I'm Sally."

He handed her the canteen again. "Erik."

"My...my ma just died from fever. It's only me and my pa now." She looked up from her contemplation of the fire, and found him staring at the night sky. "Do you have someone at home, E-Erik?"

He didn't move for a moment, then he nodded. "Yes." he sighed. "I mostly certainly do." He finally turned and looked at the girl. "And I love her very much." With a jolt, he looked at the girl. "F-Fever did you say?" He had a nasty feeling and helplessly, he tried to will it away.

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears and looked away from him. "I miss m-my ma. She would be horrified a-at what happened to me."

He could say nothing to that. "We'll be leaving in a few hours. Get some sleep if you can. You are safe with me, I assure you."

No more was said that night, the girl curling up near the fire, and falling into a fitful sleep, leaving Erik alone with his uneasy imaginings. At daylight, he slung Tucker's body over his horse, and with the girl slowly following, they made their way around to the other side of the rocky hill where the black mare waited.

"I see that you spent a quiet evening, mademoiselle," and he tightened the girth on his saddle, the mare skittish at the smell of death. "Here now. You should be quite used to that. Behave yourself."

He thrust the rifle into its scabbard and turned to Sally. "You will ride with me. There's no help for it. The other mount is occupied at the moment," nodding at the body draped over the horse. He tied a leading rope to the bridle of Tucker's gelding, and wrapped the other end around the horn of his saddle.

The young girl nodded, and stood quietly, eying the large horse skeptically. "She's taller than my pa's two that do all the plowin'. Frida and May we call them. My ma always says...s-she always..." She bit her lip, fighting her tears and went quiet.

Erik stepped into the stirrup and mounted, grabbing his side where the knife slash pained him. "Come," and he held out his hand to her, and removed his foot from the stirrup. "I'll pull you up and you use the stirrup to swing your other leg over.

"Carefully," he adjured her. "I have a wound in my left side."

She was pulled up effortlessly by the masked man, and using the stirrup as he'd told her, she settled herself behind him, mindful of her own injuries. She placed careful hands on his narrow waist, and they started off.

It was one of the strangest rides the Phantom had ever taken. It took him a while to relax with the girl behind him; there was only one other he'd allowed to touch him, and she was hundreds of miles away. He stopped at numerous watering holes on the ride back, giving the girl privacy to clean herself at the first good-sized stream they came across.

Near sundown, they were approaching the girl's home, when her father saw them coming up the dirt track, and came to meet them. He pulled his daughter from the back of the mare and hugged her close. "Sally. My sweet Sally."

He looked at her closely, holding her by the chin and turning her head from side to side looking at the livid bruises on her face. He fought down the anger and glanced from Erik to the body slung over the other horse. "He's the one?" At Erik's nod, he let loose a stream of spittle at the body. "He's a dirty son of a bitch to do that to my daughter!"

"Yes, but a dead one all the same." Erik said with some amusement.

The farmer wasn't too curious about the masked man...he had been seventeen when he enlisted in the union army, and the first major battle he would have been involved in was the battle at Chancellorsville. But he missed it, having caught the measles, and thanked God for it...the men who'd been carried into the hospital tent that day, and even into the long night, had been shot to pieces...some with horrendous head and facial wounds. The kinds of injuries, that if survived, would cause them to lead a half-life, for no woman would want to be seen with, let alone marry a man scarred so badly.

Perhaps this man hid terrible wounds as well, or maybe he just needed to keep his identity secret. Whatever the reason, it was no business of his, and all he felt now, was grateful.

He glanced from Erik to the body slung over the other horse. "Get down, mister and rest. I owe you more than I can say. S-She's all I got left now," and his voice caught, looking at his daughter. We only just buried her ma recently. She caught that fever that's been goin' round, and left us two weeks ago this Sunday."

His unease grew. "This fever. Are many affected by it?" His heart was pounding, and in spite of bringing the girl back safe, he cursed himself for not going home when he first felt the need.

The farmer with his arm around his daughter, shrugged. "Not sure for certain, but it catches some and don't let go. L-Like my Margie." He hugged Sally close. "Mister...get down and have some supper with us. You're more n' welcome to."

Erik shook his head. "I have to press on. I'm going home. But first I need to collect the bounty for that," and he glanced at the body. "He ill-used your daughter, but he died for it." He looked at Sally, then back to her father. "She's a brave girl." He nodded at them both, then turned the mare for the trip to town.

"Erik!"

He reined in, and turning in the saddle looked at the young girl, her face bruised and scratched, her eyes shadowed with grief.

"Thank you."

Surprised, he nodded again, and leading the other horse, he rode for town. He collected his bounty from the sheriff's amid quite a few startled glances, and ignoring them, he headed for the telegraph office.

"Damn!" It had closed a half hour before...he'd only just missed it. Next, he went to the train station where he was told the last train had left for that day and another would be leaving first thing in the morning. With no other options, he rode to the livery at the other end of town and put Moriah up for the night, making sure she was given a good feed and rubdown. Erik went to the hotel and got a room for the night, paying for a bath, a bottle, and a meal to be sent to his room. He was forced to pay upfront as he nearly always did, based solely on his appearance. Men wearing masks were usually shooting their way out of town, but as he'd found out, cold cash made things a lot smoother for him. He largely ignored the whispers and stares...never inured to it, but he had long ago accepted it as part of his life.

He bathed, paying special attention to the knife wound, hissing at the sting of the soap, and after drying himself, bound it, pulling the edges of the wound tightly together with the bandage. _What's one more scar? _He ate some of the food brought up and poured himself a drink, tired but only wanting news from home. Of Christine. His worry for her nagged at him, and now that he'd decided it was time to go back, it was all he could think about. He stretched out on the bed finally, his wound a dull throb and felt himself getting drowsy. He sighed heavily, relaxing just a little. After all..._she_ was young and strong. Beautiful...vibrant...

He dreamed of _her._

It was hardly the first time...she was in his thoughts for most of his waking hours; for her to figure in his dreams as much as she did was no surprise. And he welcomed her with loving arms.

She was holding his horrible head between her hands and kissing him deeply, seeming to enjoy it. She teased him, running her tongue along his bottom lip, taking it gently between her teeth and sucking it. He moaned, placing a hand on her breast and cupping its soft roundness. She was wearing a thin night shift, and he could see the delectable shadows of her nipples. Entranced, he dropped his head to her right breast and placed his eager mouth over it, suckling her through the material, wetting it with his tongue. She pressed closer to him, dropping one hand from his face, and trailing it down, down until it reached that part of him that was hard and aching with need for her. She wrapped one small hand around him, stroking lightly at first, then faster, the pleasure so intense it was nearly pain, and he surged forward into her hand again and again, until he felt the sweet, sweet release. "Christine." he gasped out.

He awoke with a start, his heart pounding, still feeling the pleasure from the inadvertent climax, and glanced down at himself. He snorted. _Well, __it certainly hadn't been__ the first time, __had__ it?_

He mourned the fact that she had only been a dream, and getting wearily to his feet, cleaned himself, put on his pasteboard nose, and headed for the door. He could check on the mare, and by then, the telegraph office would be open for business. He walked swiftly toward the livery, pulling his hat lower over his face when a wide eyed woman glanced up at him with obvious distaste, and moved quickly out of his way, hurrying to the other side of the nearly deserted street. _The empty street. Where the hell was everyone?_

He entered the dim interior of the stable, relieved to be out of the glaring sun, always more content in the shadows. The livery owner, named Wallace came through a side door just then and frowned at him.

"That mare of yers just tried to take a chunk of my hide, mister. I never seen such a mean tempered bitch as that one!" He took out a red handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his brow, then studied the ghastly looking man in front of him. "I'm goin' to need more money than what yer payin' me now, if ye want me to continue carin' for her."

Erik regarded the man before him, feeling the anger building at this man's pitiful attempt to squeeze more money out of him. "I'm paid up with you, yes?" At the man's careful nod, he strode over to the side door and opened it. "Then I suggest you get your greedy carcass out there...bring her in, and get her saddled. I'm leaving today."

The livery owner took another look at the man's narrowed eyes, and thought it in his best interests to get the two of them out of his stable before either man _or_ horse decided to take a chunk out of him. He wouldn't put it past either one of them, especially the man, and so he hastened to do his bidding.

Erik called after him. "But gently. Remember...she bites."

When the mare had been saddled, he mounted and rode up the street to the telegraph office. He would go there first, then get the earliest train out of Dodge City. The clerk eyed him suspiciously when he walked in and inquired about telegrams for H.T. Poman, but correctly judged him as someone with whom to be very careful.

"Yes, sir," and handed him, not one, but three. Erik moved to a corner of the office and opened the first. The tail from St. Louis. He read it quickly wanting only to get to the others and news of his darling. But he _was _curious as to why Christine visited the orphanage. _And_ she had taken the train back to St. Joseph a week ago!

With eager fingers, he opened the second and smiled in delight.

**EDNA STONE ILL _stop_ CHRISTINE COMING HOME _stop_**** ASKING FOR YOU **

His fingers shook slightly as he opened the third wire and read it, his smile fading and turning to one of horror. The paper fell out of nerveless fingers to the floor, and with wild eyes, he turned to the clerk. "When is the next train out of here for St. Joseph?"

The words were clipped and hoarse coming from the ominous looking man, but the clerk stepped back from the terror in the man's eyes. "Ah...ah...nine o'clock, sir." He called after the man who was leaving the office in long strides. "First one of the day!"

The clerk watched as the tall man ran out and flung himself onto the black horse in front of the office, and took off down the street in a mad gallop. Curious, he picked up the telegram from the floor and read it.

**EDNA STONE DEAD _stop_ CHRISTINE GRAVELY ILL **


	24. Chapter 24

She tossed and turned, the terrible ache in her joints giving her no reprieve. She was hot...so very hot, but when the wet rag was laid across her forehead, she jerked away from it, her teeth chattering from the cold. She saw _him_ again. He was standing in the same dark corner of her room...a darkness so complete, that his eyes glowed like twin candle flames. He didn't speak, but simply watched her with his intense stare.

Christine's mouth turned down looking at him. "Why won't you _say_ something?" She became restless, batting the cold rag away again. "Come closer. Oh...I'm so tired..."

She called out to him, but instead of coming nearer, he started to retreat further into the darkness...it was swallowing him. "Erik! Stay...please don't go! _Erik_..."

She tried to get out of bed and go after him, but arms held her down, and she wasn't strong enough to break their firm grip. She cried weakly for him and a woman's voice answered.

"That's right. You keep fighting, child. Don't give up."

She knew the woman. It was..._Hannah_? She had to have seen him too. "H-He was right in this room. Over there...in the corner. He went away...I-I want him back. Hannah? I'm so hot. My head hurts." she whined, unable to get comfortable as the ache in her bones was eased somewhat by the liniment the older woman rubbed into her joints. She dozed a little, but her temperature climbed higher during the night and her delirium returned.

She became weaker as the sickness held on into the next evening, and the housekeeper despaired as the fever wrung out the last little bit of her remaining strength. "Auntie's sick, Hannah. I'll sit with her a while." she whispered, her lips cracked and dry.

"She's not sick anymore. She's fine now...with her husband and your mama, so don't worry about..." Hannah stopped...her sorrow a heavy weight.

Christine looked directly at Hannah, her eyes feverish, and weak tears slid down her cheeks. "I didn't eat all those grapes, Auntie. Nellie did. I know because I gave them to..." She closed her eyes and whimpered. "It's so hot in here."

So that's why the mare was sick that day. They'd walked her half the night with colic. A thirteen year old Christine fed too many grapes to Nellie, and she'd felt the guilt from hiding it all these years. Hannah leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment.

"Papa told me about the Angel of Music. I've _seen_ him. He brought music, and...and I love him for it. I love him..." She continued crying, and tossed restlessly on the bed, her teeth starting to chatter from chills.

She put the cool rag on Christine's forehead again, then turned to Meg who hovered near the door. "She's far too hot and she's delirious again. Take the bucket and get me some cooler water. I need to get her temperature down."

While Meg got the water, Hannah sat and worried. It had been three days since the young woman had come down with the fever, and she only slipped further away from them. Edna had been buried yesterday, and Hannah grieved for her, but Christine still lived and most of the housekeeper's time had been spent caring for her. Doc Pierce was overwhelmed with fever cases and spreading himself thin trying to care for everyone at once.

There wasn't a lot he could do...either they were strong enough to fight it, or they succumbed. In her opinion, Christine had arrived back in St. Joe already worn down, tired and thin, ripe for the sickness to take hold. Nadir had sent the masked man two telegrams and so far, nothing. He came over everyday ready to aid her in anything that needed to be done for the young woman. He was very fond of Christine, and her condition worried the Persian, but he also did it for Erik, knowing he would expect it of him.

She sighed, exhausted herself and disheartened at the sad state they were all in. She heard voices downstairs...a man's deeper tones and Meg's, raised in fearful protest, then someone racing up the stairs. She heard a noise from the bed and was surprised to see Christine's head off the pillow, hollow eyes looking intensely at the door. Hannah watched as it was flung open and Erik stood in the doorway, eyes riveted on the girl in the bed. Meg was just behind him, frightened of Christine's former teacher, and glanced over at her mother for help.

"I tried to stop him, Mama, b-but he didn't even knock. He just walked right in the kitchen door and headed for the stairs."

Hannah smiled tiredly at her daughter. "That's fine, Meg. She's been waiting for him."

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

Christine heard his voice from far away and tried to sit up. She watched the door as her bleary eyes tried to make out the dark form standing there. She couldn't hold her head up any longer and fell back against the pillows exhausted. She felt someone taking her hands...deliciously cool hands with long thin fingers. She weakly pressed them with her own.

" Aunt Edna's awfully sick. That's why I couldn't come. Please don't be upset..." Her head tossed restlessly on the pillows. "I'm so sorry. I believe you...I do."

Her confused brain was wandering in circles, and her thin face frightened him like nothing else could. He bowed his head over her hands and kissed them repeatedly, his shoulders shaking with emotion.

Erik stroked the hair back from her forehead, staring at her with such intensity, that Hannah couldn't bear to watch him anymore.

"How long has she been delirious?" he said, his voice choked...never taking his eyes off the sick girl.

"Since the night before, but she's had some lucid moments." She wrung her hands helplessly. "Most of the time she's been asking for you."

He brought her hands up to his mouth. "I'm here, my love. _Look_ at me."

She cracked open eyes bright with fever, knowing her mind was playing tricks on her again. As it had done all along...seeing Erik when he wasn't there. Reaching out for him, just to have him retreat from her. Hearing his soothing voice...

But his hands felt real enough. And he looked very solid kneeling beside her bed, even for someone as painfully thin as her maestro. Not to mention...very wonderful.

"I love you..." she whispered, just before she fell into an uneasy sleep, losing the fight to keep her heavy lids open.

Her words at the moment barely registered with him, such was his fright at her condition, but he would remember later and marvel at them. He held her hands a little longer, feeling the dangerous heat radiating from her, and knew it was only a matter of time before he lost her. And that just wouldn't do. He looked at Hannah with wet, bloodshot eyes.

"I need a tub large enough to immerse her in, Madame Jules. And quickly."

She looked from Christine then back to the masked man and made her decision. "There's a bathing chamber just down the hall."

"Start a bath for her...keep it on the cool side, but not cold. Too extreme and it will shock her heart."

Hannah nodded once, relieved that the burden had shifted to the masked man's capable shoulders...she was worried and bone tired. She hurried from the room to do his bidding, saying to a frightened Meg as she passed her, "Get some towels...put them on the stool by the tub, dear." The young woman, with tears in her eyes, hurried down the hall to the linen closet.

Erik, who had never ceased watching Christine, stood up, pulling the covers back from her slight form and gathered her into his arms. He was appalled at how lightweight she felt...barely there, and at this rate, she wouldn't be with him for very long. He pushed the thought away, terrified that he could lose her, and with his precious burden, strode quickly out the door and down the hall to the bathing chamber, where he lowered her gently into the waiting water.

She moved weakly in protest when the cool water hit her heated flesh, too sick to do more than that. When she was submerged to her neck, Hannah turned off the taps and glanced at Erik who was holding tightly to Christine's hand.

"How long?" she asked him, watching as his thumb continually stroked the back of the sick girl's hand.

He never looked at her as he kept his eyes on his beloved's face. "A half hour should be sufficient. But if the fever doesn't break soon, we'll have to keep her here, and make the water a little colder by degrees."

"Will this work, do you think?"

"I saw a physician try this in Russia years ago during an epidemic much like this one. It worked very well in some cases." He glanced at Christine with a fierce light in his eyes. "And it damned well better again." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. "It must work for her, Madame Jules. It must...or I am lost as well."

Hannah nodded, knowing he spoke the truth. Their love for each other had proven to be strong...bending with the strain, but never breaking, and seemed to have only grown while they were apart. She didn't question it any longer. It existed, and that was that.

They added colder water to the tub gradually, and watched the young woman over the next hour for any sign of improvement as the night wore on.

Hannah debated with herself, but knew it needed to be said. "She came home run-down and pitched right in taking care of her aunt. I tried to get her to rest...but she wouldn't listen to me." She hadn't looked at him, but continued watching the young woman. "Not that I really expected she would. She loved Edna." Her voice was full of grief for her employer...and friend of many years. "But she was worried about _you_. So anxious..."

"Don't..." He brought Christine's hand up to his masked cheek and held it there. The room was quiet for a while as they kept their vigil over the sick girl.

"I am not fit for her, Madame." he said finally. "But I couldn't keep away from her any longer. I've done things..." He broke off, studying his beloved's features, seeing in her his salvation...a new life waiting for him just within his grasp. He drew in a ragged breath. "I stayed away for a very simple reason." Erik glanced at Hannah once, then shrugged. "I was out of my head when I left here, and a-angry. Staying away from her was the wisest thing I've done in months, but I fear it was too long. Before I even saw the telegram...I-I somehow _knew_ she was ill and...and yet..." His voice broke and he couldn't continue.

Hannah gave him a searching look, but said nothing. _The man __is__ exhausted. Only a fancy of his, nothing more._ She shook her head and gave him a weary smile."I'm not blaming you for anything, Erik, and I'll not judge you. It's not my place to do that. You were both at cross purposes, and Christine would be the first to admit she acted very foolishly. I don't profess to know all that much about you," and she nodded at the sick girl, "but I think _she's_ more than willing to give you another chance, so let's just wait and see."

He nodded, incapable of speech at the moment.

"_Erik_?"

They both looked at Christine, her tired but aware gaze on her teacher. He searched her face and felt her forehead with the back of his hand, feeling a surge of relief that left him weak-kneed. He cupped her cheek and her eyelids fluttered at his touch.

"Hannah...do _you_ see him?" She was staring hard at what she truly believed was an illusion, afraid to trust her own eyes. "_Do_ you?" Her voice had steadily climbed.

Hannah nodded, greatly relieved. "He's very real, child."

His thumb stroked the dimpled chin he considered so adorable. "I'm well and truly here, darling girl."

She smiled then, still afraid to believe what she was seeing, and took his hand. "Erik..." She stopped as tears filled her eyes, and the lump in her throat grew.

"Please don't cry." he whispered.

She nodded, holding as tightly as possible to his fingers, and looked down at herself in consternation then back at him. "Why am I in the tub...in my nightgown?" She shivered. "I'm c-cold."

Her fever had broken, and tenderly he pushed the damp hair away from her face. "Welcome back." he said shakily, and standing up, he turned to Hannah.

"Get her a clean nightdress. I'll stay with her."

Hannah nodded, relieved and thankful that Erik had arrived home when he did. She left to get the nightgown and Erik crouched down by the tub again. "You'll soon be back in your bed. Maybe you can eat a little soup later."

She nodded sleepily, and reaching out, placed a wet hand on his jaw and lightly caressed the corner of his mouth with her thumb, where the skin was torn in his fight with Tucker. "You're hurt."

He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. "It's nothing."

"I missed you so much. I can't believe you're here. I..." She stopped talking as Erik leaned over and placed a firm kiss on her lips.

"No more than I missed you. I love you, Christine. I swear...I swear I'll never leave you again." he said softly.

Her eyes were continually on him, relieved and thankful that he was home and safe, but sleep was trying to pull her down. She felt so tired, but better than she had in days. She thought of her aunt, and felt guilty at her joy in having her maestro back.

"My aunt died, Erik." She felt fresh grief knowing she would never see her again. "Hannah told me. I-It was a few days ago...I-I think." She looked at him with sorrow in her blue eyes. "I wasn't with her and I should have been."

"Hush." he told her soothingly. "It couldn't be helped. And now we have to get _you_ better." He placed a kiss on her forehead, thankful to find it cool. "I love you." he whispered, "so very, very much," then left the housekeeper and Meg to get Christine changed.

After she was dry and put into a fresh gown, he carried her back to her bedroom, and started to lower her back into bed when she stopped him. "Kiss me," and she wound her arms around his neck, her fingers lightly caressing his hair.

He didn't need to be told twice. He lowered his head to hers and took her mouth in a sweet and gentle kiss, then reluctantly pulled away and laid her down on the bed, tucking the blankets around her. Hannah left to heat some broth, and Meg hovered again near the door, vastly relieved that her friend was feeling better, until Erik glanced impatiently at her over his shoulder.

"I don't bite, you know." He turned back to Christine and watched as she dozed lightly, drinking in her features. He felt like he'd been traveling in purgatory for years, and finally after a hazardous journey reached the promised land.

Meg walked slowly into the room, still uncomfortable around Christine's teacher, but trying to relax. She knew she would be seeing more of Erik from now on, and didn't wish to remain frightened of him. His voice though was exactly what her friend had described to her a long time ago. Lovely.

She sat down at the vanity and smiled shyly at him, indicating her friend. "She is going to be very happy with you here, Mr. Archer. She's been so sad lately...you and then her aunt..."

"Erik."

She nodded and watched as the man Christine loved whispered softly to her. He was leaning forward, holding her hand, needing to feel her flesh against his. "I'll never leave you again. I was a coward. So afraid of your pity..." He stopped, not trusting himself to say more.

Hannah came through the door carrying a tray, and together they got Christine to sit up and eat a little broth. She did her best, wanting only to get better now for him. Once she was finished and asleep again, Erik slowly got to his feet.

"I need to get cleaned up and let the daroga know I'm still alive."

"He already knows, Erik. He was just over here...he's taken care of your horse. You go on...she's sleeping comfortably. We'll manage just fine now, thanks to you."

He nodded, tired but happier than he'd been in months. "I'll be back soon and sit with her, while you and your daughter rest." He walked out quickly, anxious only to get back to Christine.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

She woke up around four in the morning. She still felt weak as a kitten, but better than she had in a long while. She looked at the chair beside her bed and smiled tiredly to see Erik sitting up straight, his head slipped sideways. She had never seen him asleep before and studied him lovingly. She stared at his mouth which usually appeared so stern and forbidding, which now appeared relaxed and looked oddly vulnerable.

She moved restlessly on her pillow, and he opened his eyes. "How do you feel?" he asked her softly.

"Better than I did. You're here now." She feasted her eyes on him, wondering if she was still fevered and he wasn't anything more than a figment of her mind. The notion frightened her. "How about you? You look tired, Maestro. When is the last time you had a good rest?"

He thought back and remembered when he'd dreamed of her making love to him. He cleared his throat. "I'm fine. I usually only sleep a few hours a night ...don't worry about me. Do you need anything?"

"Yes." She blushed a little, but her love for him urged her on. "Come and lie down on the bed."

This surprised Erik. He was still finding it difficult to believe that she loved him. It had been his dearest wish, but now that she did, he couldn't fathom why.

He knew that doing what she requested, was improper, but he couldn't tell her no, and didn't want to anyway. He stood up, removing his coat, then his shoes and got on the bed with her, stretching out and putting his back up against the headboard. He gathered her gently into his arms, the lovely weight of her forcing out a deep sigh of contentment from him. Christine's fingers curled in his shirt and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"This is so much better." He could tell by her voice that she was having a hard time staying awake. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"You won't leave again, will you?"

He kissed the top of her head. "No. Never again."

"Promise...me..." she said, her words tapering off as sleep came for her.

"I promise."

She was asleep almost instantly. He looked down at her small hand lying on his chest, and her blonde head on his shoulder. Her tangled waist length curls spilled over his hands, and he couldn't recall a time when he was more content than he was now.

He was weak with relief that she was no longer fighting the deadly fever. "I love you." he whispered into her hair. "More, I think than you can ever know," as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. He wondered just before he closed his eyes, if he would be this lucky...to hold her close every night for the rest of their lives.

In the morning, Hannah, feeling rested for the first time in days, entered Christine's room at six o'clock to check on her. She found the young woman still sleeping soundly and the masked man sitting in the chair beside her bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

It's what she'd expected from him. He could no more leave Christine's side now than he could fly out the window, but what intrigued Hannah, was the absence of shoes on his feet, and the indentation of a head on the other pillow.

She smiled at him. "How about a cup of coffee, Erik? And some breakfast. I'm sure you could use something right about now." She nodded at the bed. "Did you get any sleep yourself?"

He said nothing for a moment. "Only coffee, Madame Jules, thank you," and he returned to watching his beloved's face. Her smile turned into a grin, and she left the room laughing at the guilt in his eyes at having been caught. She couldn't comprehend how a man who looked as sinister as he did, could take on the appearance of a naughty boy with one hand in the cookie jar. It was amusing.

Things were indeed looking much better.

_XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX_

"Erik?" Christine walked through the solarium admiring all the improvements he'd made since returning home over a month ago. The window which had been broken that night was replaced months before, but the Persian had done little else, instead leaving the rest for his friend to finish one day. And that day had finally arrived. The rooms were beautiful, and she tried to look everywhere at once. There were plants of all kinds in large pots on the harlequin stone floor and baskets hanging from the filigree metal scroll work of the ceiling. Beautiful couches were scattered everywhere, plump with cushions...little hidden nooks for reading and dreaming. She blushed...for kisses given and received. He had asked her to join him for dinner, and Mrs. Cole had directed her up here. She had been surprised when Nadir had been able to coax the amiable housekeeper back to work at Archer's. She rather thought that Erik was now paying her double what she'd made before.

Since her illness, she and her masked teacher had been nearly inseparable. While she regained her strength, he kept her company, reading to her with his protean delivery, his voice taking on the nuance and personalities of the characters in the book with ease. Or he would play his violin, and very often, Hannah or Meg appeared in her bedroom to listen.

When she was at last strong enough to leave the house, Erik led her next door to Archer's one afternoon. They were on their way to the tower room and the grand piano, but when they arrived on the second floor, they found Lucifer curled up at the foot of the door in front of them.

"Locked out again?" He walked over and opened the door and the black cat darted inside. Less than a minute later, the feline trotted out with what looked like a bunch of feathers in his mouth, and slipped silently down the stairs.

"Erik? Was that a _bird_ in his mouth?" Christine said uneasily.

He snorted. "Well...it used to be." At her mystified look, he explained. "They're feathers from Anthony, Christine. Believe it or not, I think those two were...well, for wont of a better word...ah, _friendly_, so I collected some of his old feathers and fashioned a bird from them for the cat. He carries the thing around the house, to Mrs. Cole's eternal disgust, but when I'm working in here, he brings it up and simply drops it. Mrs. Cole goes round shutting doors all day, and apparently shut the thing in there where he couldn't get to it."

"Working, Maestro? Doing what?"

She walked over and stood beside him in the doorway, and could only stare in surprise. It was an artist's studio with an easel set up near the window, a stack of paintings against the wall, and she smelled the wonderful odors of paint, turpentine and linseed oil.

But it was the other side of the room which took her breath. There was a round wooden stand in the center of the room with a large chunk of white rock atop it. A sturdy table held more of the rocks, and there were different sized curved knives and chisels arrayed neatly on a wooden tray. All to create the exquisite works she saw on a nearby shelf. She was startled to see a few done in her likeness, but one in particular caught her eye. A painfully thin man bent over from the weight of heavy chains, face an agonized grimace, reaching long fingers out to touch the hand of a slender young woman.

She had turned slowly to him, obviously baffled. "_You_ did all of this? Erik...do you mean to tell me that you also paint _and_ sculpt?" She looked at him in amazement. "It's probably much safer to ask you what you _can't_ do, isn't it? It would take much less time."

He watched her in amusement as she made her way slowly around the room admiring the artwork everywhere she looked. Some of the paintings were strange and wonderful, showing fantastic landscapes that surely didn't exist in the natural world, but were fascinating all the same.

But it was the sculptures that really caught her eye, for they were exquisitely rendered and...very familiar to her. Where had she seen this work before? She stared at the bust of a woman who looked suspiciously like her serene lady. Then she knew.

"The marble statue on the second floor landing..." She turned to look at him in inquiry and he nodded.

"It's not marble...it's alabaster, but yes. That's my work. Do you like it?" he asked her hesitantly, because for once he couldn't read her expression.

She walked slowly over to him and put her arms around his waist. "I've loved her since my very first trip to this house." She leaned her forehead against his chest and chuckled in remembrance. "She gave me courage often...I touched her for luck _many_ times, especially when I needed some extra help in dealing with my strict and intimidating teacher. And to think _you_ created her." she said, stunned by this man's endless talents.

"White alabaster is very light and translucent...it's actually wonderful to work with, but in order to produce an opacity suggestive of true marble, I immerse the sculptures in a bath of water and heat them gradually...ah, nearly to boiling." He looked down at her, warming to his subject, the teacher in him always eager to impart his knowledge. "It's quite simple really. If the temperature..."

His words were stopped when Christine, hands on his shoulders, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He pulled her close, and slanted his mouth across hers, everything forgotten except for the taste and feel of her.

"Who was your inspiration for it?" she said against his lips, needing to breathe.

"For what?" he said, his mind having shifted to more important things...delectable things.

Christine grinned. Her darling man had other things on his mind now, and it had nothing to do with alabaster. "The sculpture on the landing." She gave him a little shake. "Pay attention, Maestro."

He grunted. "Oh, I am paying attention, believe me." as his arms remained tight around her. "I will tell you that someday. It's a long story, but I promise I _will_ tell you." He tilted her chin up with one long finger. "Now..._where_ were we?" and his mouth descended once again to hers.

Often, just after her illness, they simply sat and talked. One afternoon they were together in the parlor and Erik told her what had become of him after he'd left her five months before.

"There wasn't a day in all that time, when I didn't think of you and wished I'd had the courage to stay. But you saw my face and I panicked at the pity in your eyes. It...shamed me."

He looked earnestly at her, swallowing hard. "I fail to understand how...how after seeing it and witnessing my...my insane actions of that day, you can still look on me with _any_ tenderness at all."

She leaned forward and looked steadily at him. "_Never_ be ashamed. That night...I realized for the first time how cruelly people have treated you." She grabbed his hands and brought them to her mouth. "Yes I felt sympathy for you, but you had my love as well. I _should_ have been able to prove it to you that night...instead, I only hurt you. I believed Becky when I should have trusted _you_. I accused you of betrayal through my own insecurity and...and jealousy."

She dropped her eyes from his and studied his slender fingers, marveling at their strength and dexterity. "I-I could not bear the thought of you with that...that..."

He tipped her head up to meet his eyes. "Put _that_ thought completely out of your head. I never betrayed you with that harpy. You _must_ believe that if nothing else!"

Christine immediately saw the look in his eyes edging toward panic, and put a finger to his lips seeking to placate him... the events of that night were still very fresh in his mind. "Shh. I do believe you. I'll always regret hurting you that way, and I intend to make it up to you every single day of our lives. I was so miserable in St. Louis, wondering where you were...if you were all right..."

He pulled her into his arms and she laid her head on his shoulder feeling more content in that moment than she had any right to be. Erik had done a very good job of downplaying his departure from St. Joe that hellish night, but she remembered how devastated he'd been, and felt the horror and grief again as if it had just happened. Seeing once more his torn and bloody face. She resolved to make him as happy as she possibly could, and decided to start at that very moment. She put a hand to his jaw and turning his head toward her, kissed him, no longer the shy young woman she'd been in the past, but one who knew exactly what she wanted.

And Erik just as eagerly kissed her back.

Her cousin Josephine, recovered from a difficult birthing, at last made it to St. Joe. On a warm day in early July, the two women made their way to the church cemetery to visit Edna's grave. Armed with bouquets of flowers, they paid their respects to the woman who had been a strong force in both of their lives. The reading of the will was going to be held the following afternoon, but they already knew through Edna's conversations with the two of them what it would contain. Christine would keep the house and a comfortable stipend, while Josephine would have the bulk of the estate bequeathed to her. Christine would receive a few pieces of Edna's considerable jewelry collection and the rest would go to her daughter. There would be cash settlements bestowed on her grandchildren and also Hannah as well. And Nadir would later be amused that she left a few thousand dollars to the opera house.

After a good cry in each other's arms, Josephine regaled her young cousin with the antics of her growing family and her new baby daughter, Edna May. "Wait...just you wait! You will be amazed at how much of your life is taken over by children!" She laughed though with fondness. "But they're wonderful all the same. I just wish Mother could have seen her granddaughter." She shook her head and forced a smile. They had returned to the house and were having sandwiches and iced tea at the kitchen table with Meg, and the three women had related amusing stories about growing up with Edna. After a lull in the conversation, Josephine asked her, "Any man in particular calling on you, Christine? Mother mentioned Raoul de Chagny."

Christine looked fleetingly at Meg as she nibbled on her sandwich. She hoped to introduce Erik to her cousin before she left at the end of the week. "Raoul is a good friend, that's all. But yes. There _is_ someone. My next door neighbor, actually. Remember? I wrote to you about him. Jo...we love each other very much. I want to spend my life with Erik, and...and...I want you to meet him before you leave."

This surprised Josephine. "Erik? _Teacher_ Erik?" And Christine nodded.

The night before her departure for New York, saw a reluctant Erik walking next door, dressed in his best broadcloth suit and most handsome waistcoat. Christine had cajoled him into meeting her cousin for a brief visit, and wanting nothing more than to please her, he presented himself at the house punctually at seven o'clock.

Josephine for her part was very curious about the man described by her mother as a deformed recluse with a sharp wit and the voice of an angel. But her mother had also been disturbed by his unseemly interest in Christine. It was evidently not just music that fueled their relationship, for Josephine could see his ardent devotion to her cousin. What's more, she hadn't missed the pride and love in Christine's eyes when she introduced the ugly man with the long nose, wispy mustache and heavenly voice.

He was very homely it was true, and although he dressed as a gentleman and had impeccable manners, there was something bubbling just below the surface that was disquieting to her. She sensed in the man a passion barely held in check, and blushed as her thoughts headed to what occurred between a man and a woman. Her husband enjoyed his intimacies, while she merely endured them as what was expected of her as a wife, but _this_ man would try to make it into an art form. He would require a warm and willing partner in his lovemaking, not simply a stiff board with tits. She wasn't sure, but she expected her cousin to more than meet him halfway on that.

The next morning as they stood in the waiting room of the train station, Josephine hugged her cousin one last time. "I miss my children and Nanny can't be expected to give them the same amount of love their mother can." She looked affectionately at Christine. "Your Erik is devoted to you, cuz. He loves you very much...I can tell, so whatever you do..._don't_ let him get away."

Christine felt warm gratitude toward her cousin for having the sense to see past her teacher's exterior. Most could not, but Josephine was made of finer stuff. The two cousins shared another brief hug, a few more tears and said their goodbyes. As she got better, he returned to dividing his time between the opera house, his projects at home and Christine. She was content that she still received the lion's share of his regard.

And now this night. It was special for the both of them...it was the first time she'd been to the solarium since the day Erik left, and she was very glad to be back.

She found him near the lovely fountain which now cascaded in a pretty fall of water from tier to tier. Beside it was a table set for two, and the white carved bench loaded with blue cushions. A small black lacquered table next to it held a bottle of wine and two glasses. She thought he looked very trim in his black swallow-tail suit with a burgundy waistcoat and black cravat.

He turned to her as she made her way over to him, his yellow eyes admiring her from head to toe in her black silk dress trimmed in jet lace. "You look very pretty! And what's more...very healthy. Come and sit down before we eat." He motioned for her to have a seat on the bench, then handed her a glass of the bubbly wine.

He sat down beside her as she took a cautious sip. "I don't suppose you've ever had champagne before?"

She shook her head and grinned at him. "My aunt would have some on special occasions, but it wasn't wasted on a mere child." She pushed a lock of his black hair away from his mask and regarded him tenderly, then took another sip of champagne.

"Mm...this _is_ good. What's the occasion?"

He shook his head at her, his mouth almost grim. "Uh...first, I would like to make a toast." He held up his glass and Christine followed suit, raising hers also.

He cleared his throat nervously and regarded her with loving eyes. "Here's to your complete return to good health." They clinked their glasses together and sipped the champagne.

Christine eyed him solemnly. "I would like to make one also." She cleared her throat, once again thankful that she had him back again. "To my teacher, my friend...my only love." She raised her glass and waited for Erik, who sat and simply stared at her.

"Erik?"

He started in surprise and raised his glass. "Yes, of course." They each took a sip and Christine watched him closely. "What's wrong?"

He set his glass down on the table and shook his head. "Nothing is wrong. For once, everything seems right and I have to wonder if it isn't my imagination working here. To have you _and_ your love would have seemed madness at one time. _I_ know I'm not worthy of you...your aunt realized that. I..." he looked away from her unable to speak.

She took his hand between hers. "You are one of the most extraordinary men I've ever met, and I am h-honored that you love me." She leaned forward and slipped her arms around his neck. "Before she died, my aunt told me something I think I've known for many months. She said no man could love me better than you."

She put her lips right next to his ear and whispered, "You know what? I agree."

Erik shivered at the feel of Christine's lips, and cupping her chin in his long fingers, his mouth descended on hers, kissing her with all the passion and longing he'd kept bottled up inside for months. And she responded to him with her own hunger, less shy and no longer unsure of her feelings for him. Months of heartbreak had cured that. Her fingers tangled in his hair, running her fingertips along his scalp, and pulling him closer as he deepened their kiss. She loved the feel of his spare body against her...he was all angles and hardness, but it felt so good with her breasts pressed tightly to his chest, and the familiar heat in her lower belly ignited quickly.

He broke away from her lips to slide his mouth down her neck, nibbling and kissing as he went. "You taste so sweet," he muttered against her skin. "If this is all a dream, I pray that I never wake from it!"

His mouth was doing lovely things to her and she didn't want him to stop. She pressed even closer to him as he claimed her lips once more, her hands stroking the silken cheeks of his mask, wanting to feel his mouth and hands everywhere on her.

She parted her lips, inviting him deeper and he more than willingly complied. A noise near the peacock doors startled them and Erik tore his mouth away from Christine's with great reluctance. Would he _ever_ get the chance to love her as long as he wished? She pulled back from him and looked for the source of the noise, and laughed when she spied Lucifer scratching at one of the doors.

"How silly of us! Pretending we're all alone when someone could walk in at any moment."

He glanced once at the door and shook his head. "I wasn't worried. Daroga and Mrs. Cole have been told to stay away." At her inquiring look, he took both of her hands in his and kissed each knuckle reverently. He looked deep into her beautiful eyes, but suddenly and without warning, he became unsure of himself.

"I have something I wish to ask you," and standing up, he faced her, parted his lips to speak...and was suddenly struck dumb. He opened his mouth, but the words poised at the tip of his tongue refused to leave. She watched his with some concern.

She put a hand on the sleeve of his jacket. "It's all right, Erik. You may ask me anything. Surely you know that by now?"

He took a deep breath and began again. If she said no to him, he would be devastated. "I know it's really too soon after your aunt's...passing, but I must ask it anyway." He paused and took a deep breath before he committed himself to either great joy or dark despair. _Was it overly warm in here?_ He put thin fingers beneath a starched collar suddenly too tight.

"Christine." He stopped and cleared his throat. "I want to..." He cleared his throat again, feeling as if all the air in the room was gone, leaving him breathless. _Damn it!_ Hadn't she professed to love him? He couldn't manage to get the words out of his mouth. He wanted this more than anything, and because of the strange paralysis, they would remain in limbo for the rest of their lives. And Erik preferred to die a married man. He began to panic.

She continued helplessly to watch his effort to speak, and noticed a slight tremor in his hands. She looked from him to the table set so elegantly...the champagne resting in the bucket of ice, and his obvious nervousness that was so unlike him. And suddenly she knew _why_ he was acting so strange.

She regarded him tenderly, her eyes full of elation and tears. "Yes." She stood up and slipped her arms around her dumbstruck maestro.

He was momentarily stunned. He didn't remember saying the words. _Had he_? _Were they actually standing here together in the solarium, or was he dreaming again?_ He shook his head in dismay.

"Erik? Say _something_, won't you? You're beginning to worry me."

He looked down at her, his eyes holding a myriad of emotions, love and hope being the foremost, but fear was there as well. "D-Did you just say yes to...to becoming my..." he swallowed hard, and took his tattered courage into his hands, "my wife?"

She smiled through her tears and nodded, not certain if she could love him more than she did at this moment. _Her mighty Phantom indeed!_

"Oh, Christine." he whispered, as he pulled her close. "You have made me the happiest of men," he regarded her hopefully, "that is, if you just agreed to what I've been trying to ask you for the past five minutes!

"I will do my utmost to make you the _happiest_ of women, I promise you!"

"I know you will. You have been many things to me, but husband, I think, will be your greatest achievement." He pulled her close and pressed a kiss on her lips until they both needed to breathe.

Holding her close, the absurdity of what had just taken place smote him. "Christine?" She looked up at him in inquiry as she smoothed her hands over his waistcoat. "Did _we_ just propose?"

She chuckled in delight and standing on tiptoe, kissed his jaw. "Yes, I believe so, and _we_ both accepted."

Relief and joy jockeyed for position. His hands a little unsteady, he reached inside his jacket for the little velvet box he'd had in his keeping the day everything had gone so horribly wrong. He opened it, and taking her hand in his, slipped the sapphire and diamond ring on her finger.

He held her hand, keeping his head down, overcome with love and intense emotion. Little did he think that this day would ever come and for the first time ever in his lonely life, he felt blessed. Leaning forward, he captured her lips once more, moving his mouth over hers slowly and relishing her taste.

Christine clutched his thin shoulders, overwhelmed by tenderness for him and a much more earthy feeling. The idea of becoming Erik's wife, and being alone with him to do what they wished, excited her and put a rosy blush on her cheeks. He wondered at her flushed face, but said nothing, placing another kiss at the corner of her mouth.

"If you would like to keep our engagement quiet for a while, I completely understand. There should be a mourning period for your aunt. I believe it's expected of you. I will wait."

She nodded, knowing he was right. "It _is_ expected of me and I owe it to my aunt. She was very dear to me and I miss her." She leaned in, putting her mouth close to his and whispered against his lips. "But it won't be for long. I love you, Maestro. I want nothing more than to have you for my husband."

She squeezed his shoulders one last time and reached for her small handbag. She removed something from it and held it out to him. "_This_ belongs to you," and with a vast relief, she returned his silver cravat pin with the single blue sapphire.

He kept his eyes on her. "You don't know how wonderful I feel getting this back from you. Will you do the honors again, my dear?"

Taking it from him, she slipped it through his cravat and straightened it. With a twinkle in her eye she looked at it critically. "You know...it looks quite nice, I think."

For a reply, he pulled her close and kissed her. She slipped her arms around his waist and nestled close to him, regarding the table set for two. "Well...we've proposed and we have gladly accepted. Now, how about feeding me? I'm starving!"

He tightened his hold on her, loving her so much he could have wept for joy, but instead said lightly. "Minx. You're beginning to sound just like a certain Persian we both know."

Her reply was a giggle and a kiss.


End file.
